


The Way to a Mann's Heart

by CosmicMind



Series: Mann's Heart Universe [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Arguing, Canon-Typical Violence, Deaf Soldier, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Marijuana, Mentions of Spy/Scout's Mother, Post-Coital, Smoking, Strangulation, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-03-16 04:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicMind/pseuds/CosmicMind
Summary: When the power couple loses their spark, it's up to the rest of the team to get them to stop being such babies and make up, before they tear the team apart.





	1. Trouble in Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> ok i first wrote this in like november and completely forgot about it, so i decided to make it a multi chapter fic. yayy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Soldier witnesses the beginning of the second biggest war he's seen in his life.

Soldier was never a sissy, no sir! He had lived through battles where he went an entire day without eating- the nourishment of living to see another hour in war was enough food for thought. He didn’t _need_ to eat other than when it was absolutely necessary.

 

However, getting up for a midnight snack was acceptable. Every American needed to eat. After all, who knows when his last meal might be when whatever horrible thing the communists are planning next strike. A bowl of cereal never hurt a man.

 

It was passed midnight, nearing one o’ clock, by the time Soldier finished his food and washed his dishes. His comrades were off in fairy land dreaming about the greatness of America- or at least they better be- so Soldier ate in solitude. No worries; he could keep vigil and protect his team as he ate through his bowl of whatever sugary cereal Scout’s mom sent him this month (surely Scout wouldn't mind).

 

At least, he assumed he was the only one awake.

 

As Soldier retreated to his room, he heard muffled voices coming from down the halls. Yelling, and a lot of it. It was coming from the infirmary. Was the doctor in trouble? Like a true comrade, Soldier took it upon himself to investigate these terrible sounds.

 

Slowly and silently, Soldier crept around corners on high alert, his helmet swishing as he darted his head around for any nearby threats. As he approached, the yelling only seemed to get louder, now revealing that there were two voices, and both were furious.

 

Soldier poked his head around a corner closest to the infirmary, listening in on the voices. One was booming with a thick accent, though speaking in English, and the other was a shrill and snarling in German.

 

Before Soldier made any further advancements, the double doors slammed open with a sickening crack, dangerously on the verge of either damaging the wall or the doors themselves. Heavy stomped out, and Soldier hid back around the corner before he was spotted, even going as far as to hold his breath. Judging by his expression, Heavy was not in the mood to see Soldier, and that was one of the few men Soldier knew could beat him to a pulp, and one he truly feared.

 

Heavy stormed off down the other end of the hallway to his own quarters, muttering to himself in Russian with smoke practically coming out of his ears. The thought of Soldier investigating the doctor’s lair was tempting, sure, but he decided against it, lest he face the wrath of the medicine man.

 

With that, Soldier snuck back to bed, occupying himself for the rest of his waking hours with thoughts of what the hell he just saw.

 

\----

 

“Gentlemen! We have a crisis on our hands, which is why I have gathered you all here today!”

 

“You didn’t gather us, Dum Dum. It’s breakfast, and this is the kitchen.”

 

“’aye, the lad’s right. Also, do you hafta yell, Jane? We’re right here, ya know, an’ some of us are hung over.”

 

Soldier stood in his usual rock-solid straight posture to the rest of his team, minus Medic and Heavy. All were as excited to be up as ever, some more than others- Spy was as dapper as always with his baclava and suit ready for battle, whereas Sniper hadn’t even gotten out of his pajamas yet. Whether Pyro even was a morning person was up for debate, but occasionally during breakfast they’d reach a finger up under their mask presumably to rub their eyes.

 

“I’m afraid we have the threat of _treason_ on our hands, men!” Soldier continued without lowering his volume even a fraction of an octave, “Mann versus Mann, European versus European. We could very well be on the verge of another world war by now!”

 

The other mercenaries exchanged confused glances amongst each other, trying to nonverbally decipher with one another what the hell Soldier was going on about at such an early hour.

 

“Does it have somethin’ to do with Doc and Heavy?” Engineer asked from his spot at the stove as he cooked himself a traditional hardy American breakfast.

 

“Yes, and- wait, how did you know?” Soldier asked.

 

“They are the only ones not ‘ere and they’re European,” Spy answered as he lit himself one of his expensive imported cigarettes.

 

“Couldn’t wait till you got to the rec room, sir?” Engineer groaned as he looked over his shoulder, “Pretty sure your ash don’t go well in other people’s eggs.”

 

“Bite me, fat man,” Spy snapped back, “We’ve all seen you chew your ‘secret’ tobacco like a cow when you go in that workshop. At least I am ‘onest about my tobacco use. ” Spy was going to be Spy as always, and Engineer wouldn’t argue any further with his now pink-colored ears. He turned back to his breakfast at hand.

 

“’ave any of you seen them this morning?” Demoman asked, “Heavy’s usually here by now, making himself a lunch.”

 

A murmur of negative statements rang through, everyone finally coming to terms that it was strange that neither of them were here this morning. Food was one of the few things Heavy loved more than his gun and his doctor.

 

“I saw Heavy,” Sniper said as he took the freshly brewed coffee out of the maker. All eyes turned to the slouched figure at the counter and the bushman let out a long yawn before taking a gulp straight from the pot and continuing. “Yeah. Saw him on my way to m’ van, ‘bout half past six. Y’know that ol’ punchin’ dummy Scout was too weak to use so he threw it in one of the garages?”

 

“Hey!” Scout snapped, “That thing was busted! Probably filled wit lead or sumthin’. I need a _real_ punchin’ bag.”

 

Sniper ignored him for now, as did everyone else. “Well, Heavy pulled it out to the courtyard- back turned to me, so I was able to stare for a bit, ya know. I’ll tell ya, he was just beatin’ the bloody _Hell_ outta that thing. Think he punched it’s 'ead clean off- just like that, one punch. Never seen him that upset before. Must’ve been real bad.”

 

“So the doc pissed off the big guy?” Scout asked.

 

“It would seem so, Private,” Soldier confirmed, “I saw it with my own two eyes. While I did not see the doctor myself, the bloodlust look in Heavy’s eyes told all. Only other time I’ve ever seen that look was during the Battle of-"

 

Pyro added a muffled interruption from their spot at the table- not eating anything, obviously. It was obvious they’re not taking off their mask in front of everyone any time soon, but they always joined breakfast. They spent breakfast drawing crude crayon pictures on scrapped paper from Medic’s office, and no one cared by now.

 

“You’re right, Pyro,” Engineer agreed as he craned his neck back, “Those two go together like bacon and eggs. Wonder what set them off?”

 

“No idea,” Sniper responded.

 

“Then we must act fast!” Soldier announced, “We will march right into Medic’s office and torture that man till he apologizes to Heavy. Scout and Demoman, you hold him down, and I’ll give him the ol’ Flying Squirrel method. Works every time.”

 

“Or we could just talk to the man,” Spy retorted as he puffed out a cloud of smoke, “’e’s more civilized than _some_ of us. I don’t think ‘e wants to be tortured before even entering the battlefield.”

 

“Frenchie’s right,” Scout said, “You seem that dude in the showers? He’s fuckin’ ripped. I ain’t holdin’ down no pissed-off, buff German motherfucka. We don’t even know his side of the story.”

 

“This is no time for idle chat, _ladies_ ,” Soldier barked, slamming his hand on the table and looking into Scout’s eyes from under his helmet, “You _will_ hold him down, or by God I will staple your arms to that man, you sniveling, pathetic-”

 

“ _Or,_ or,” Engineer interjected, cooling the flames before Soldier and Scout got heated. By now he had walked over to Pyro and put a hand on their shoulder, while the other held a breakfast bagel and egg sandwich on a plate. “Before we go an’ rustle his feathers, since y’all haven’t seen Medic this morning, why don’t we give him some breakfast first? He gets cranky if he doesn’t eat like we all do. Jus’ don’ like to show is, is all.”

 

“Laborer, food is not the answer,” Spy sneered, “That man, ‘e’s impossible when ‘e’s in a bad mood. Can’t we leave this until the battle is over?”

 

“If we can get this over with now, our lives’ll be much easier. That mad scientist was probably up all night and forgot to eat again. The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach; maybe he’ll open up to us after some chow. So, how ‘bout one of y’all run this down there for me? Someone else, go check on the big feller.”

 

Initially, no one responded beyond unsure glances amongst each other. Sniper was getting close to finishing off his pot of coffee in the corner of the kitchen, and Spy was tapping his cigarette over the ash tray he had set in the middle of the table some time ago. Then finally, _finally,_ Demoman got up and took the plate from Engineer’s hands.

 

“Alright, alright, I’ll go,” he said.

 

A sigh of relief swept across the room.

 

“But Spy’s coming with me.”

 

Spy’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth. “Why?” he hissed.

 

“If the doc locked the door, you’re good at pickin’ them things. Plus, ye seem to tolerate him more than most of the people here."

 

Spy’s famous scowl returned for the first time this morning, showing his true age etching across his face. Still, he harshly smashed the cigarette into the ash tray and followed Demoman out of the room.


	2. Interrogation Part 1: Medic is a Mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demoman and Spy lurk into the medibay to awake the sleeping dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a lot of German (and some French). Translations are at the bottom!!

The doors of the medibay creaked open with such little force applied by Demoman, and light pooled into the dark room from the hallway. Various vials of questionable contents glistened the new light like ornaments. Doves fluttered about with the sudden intruders entering the room- the first sign something was wrong. Medic always put away his doves before going to bed so none of them got loose throughout the base.

 

“Eh… doctor?” Demoman said quietly as he peered through the dimly lit room, squinting his eye, “Wakey wakey. We got food, and uh… ach, can’t see a damn thing!”

 

“Perhaps this would help,” Spy said, flicking the light switch behind him as he entered.

 

Sure enough, the room sprang back to life, and everything before the two men was crystal clear. Initially, the room still looked as empty as it felt in the darkness, aside from the presence of Medic’s many prized doves. Demoman wondered if Medic just forgot to put them away last night and he was fine.

 

However, the new addition shed light on new portions of the room. On the work bench at the end of the line of beds, a figure was hunched over and sitting in a swivel chair. Sure enough, it was Medic, head down as he used one of the CPR dummies as a pillow. Various tools and vials were scattered across the table, matched with a pool of blood surrounding the man. The medigun connected a stream to something on the table, and was passing through Medic to do so.

 

Demoman and Spy exchanged glances and went over to Medic, who wasn’t conveniently moving at the moment. Archimedes- as bloody as ever- was pecking at his master’s hair ruffled hair. It let out a soft sound when the two men approached and fluttered off.

 

“Is… is he dead?” Demoman said, a pit forming in his stomach as he looked at Spy again.

 

Spy shook his head nonchalantly and stepped in front of his comrade. He placed a delicate hand upon Medic’s much larger shoulder blade, then rustled the man. Medic stirred and let out a long groan before he sat up to look at whoever disturbed his slumber.

 

To put it as delicately as possible, Medic looked like shit. The vest and button-up he prided himself in keeping so crisp was disheveled and unkempt- sleeves rolled up, several random buttons undone, and only part of the shirt was tucked into his pants. His glasses were missing, and instead replaced with thick gobs of blood running down half of his face from where he was sleeping. His eyes were also bloodshot and his five o’ clock shadow looked absolutely wonderful with god knows who’s blood caking part of it.

 

He stared up at Spy, furrowing his brow as he blinked. “Eh?” he yawned, “ _Was, ähm ... wie spät ist es?”_

“ _Fünf Uhr sechsundvierzig,_ ” Spy replied in a controlled voice.

 

“ _Fünfzehn Minuten vor sechs?!”_

 

“ _Tatsächlich. Wann bist du schlafen gegangen?_ ”

 

“ _Fünf_. _Oh, Gott verdammt._ ”

 

Apparently neither Spy nor Medic were going to acknowledge the non-German speaker in the room. Medic groaned once more and streaked his hands across his face, smearing the blood further to other regions of his face. Demoman cringed at the sight.

 

“You, eh… got somethin’ there, doc,” he said, pointing all around his own face. Finally, Medic turned to Demoman, letting out another long yawn.

 

“Oh, hello Herr Demoman,” Medic greeted, lifting a limp hand up to accompany as a pathetic wave, “Vhen did you get here?”

 

“I’ll get you a cloth,” Spy suggested, “Third cupboard to right, next to the gauze, yes?”

 

“ _Nein,_ I vill just vash my face,” Medic assured. He stood up with some help of the work bench, getting more blood on his hand in the process, and stumbled over to the nearby sink.

 

Spy and Demoman watched as Medic splashed himself with cold water. Obviously, he had not fully comprehended all the blood that was on his face right now (that, or he didn’t care enough to do a real washing). Archimedes returned to his shoulder as he hunched over to splash water on his tired skin.

 

Now that Demoman really took notice how much blood was around that corner of the medibay, and on Medic himself. Some sort of bodily amalgamation was in a dish on the workbench- hastily made stitches connecting a hand that now had six extra fingers sprouting out of various parts. God only knew where he got all those fingers from, and frankly Demoman didn’t want to know the answer.

 

Demoman suddenly remembered why he came here in the first place. He took several steps towards Medic and held up the breakfast sandwich’s plate as Spy lit another cigarette.

 

“Oh yeah,” Demoman mentioned, “Engie made ya some breakfast. Figured ya hadn’t eaten all night.”

 

Medic turned off the sink and turned around, scowling. “Vhat? He zhinks I can’t take care of myself!?”

 

“Ah, that’s eh… not what he, um…” Demoman craned his neck back, “Spy, help me out here, lad.”

 

“It was this or Soldier’s cooking,” Spy fibbed, “We figured you would want something that doesn’t give you stomach poisoning.”

 

“Ah, _danke_ ,” Medic replied, his lips turning upwards slightly. He took the sandwich from the plate and sat back down on the swivel chair. Medic was known to be stubborn and refusing to eat when he was too preoccupied with other matters. However, the way he devoured that sandwich in less than a minute spoke otherwise.

 

“’ungry, aren’t we?” Spy teased, smirking.

 

“ _Ja, ja,_ ” Medic agreed, licking a bit of stray bacon from the side of his mouth.

 

“What is… that?” Demoman asked, pointing to the hand experiment sitting beside Medic. Medic looked at it as well and cackled.

 

“Oh, zhat’s… actually, I don’t know. Heh, funny how zhings are like zhat zometimes.”

 

“Oh, that’s… nice,” Demoman trailed off, trying to figure out how to dance around this subject.

 

“Could it be related to your fight with Heavy?” Spy stated bluntly. Demoman sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

Medic’s tired but happy demeanor changed in an instant, and he straightened his back. “Oh… so _zhat’s_ vhy you’re here.”

 

Spy tried his best to appear sympathetic, which still wasn’t much. “When lovers quarrel, it can be-”

 

“Zhere is _nothing_ to discuss!” Medic hollered, slamming his fist down and splashing some drops of blood up, “Zhat man is being a baby, and I don’t need to apologize to _him_ vhen _I_ have done nothing wrong!”

 

“Docteur, don’t you think you may be overreacting? Can you at least talk to us about this, like adults?”

 

“I’m am _not_ ‘overreacting’, _tratschtante!_ ”

 

Spy’s eyes widened and Demoman held his breath in case these two were ready to brawl. “Well, excuse me for trying to ‘elp you, _rotzloffel_.”

 

Medic sprung up from his swivel chair and loomed over Spy, his bloodshot eyes resembling that of a blood-thirsty wolf. He picked up a nearby bloody scalpel and held it up to Spy’s face. Spy looked at the scalpel with a sour face, then back up at Medic as he shifted his cigarette in his mouth and folded his arms.

 

“Say… zhat… again,” Medic growled as a wicked smile spread across his face, “Perhaps I’ll cut out that gossiping tongue of yours. Perhaps it can take zhe pleasure out of your two favorite activities: running your mouth and sucking-”

 

“I’ll pass,” Spy responded, unamused by such pathetic threats, “Come along Tavish. Battlements still start at seven, by the way _. L'infirmière peut faire sa crise dans son coin.”_ As Demoman was still trying to keep quiet, Spy began to pull him out of the infirmary. “Watch your head.”

“Wha-?” Demoman said, but did so anyways, as did Spy. A thrown CPR dummy hit the wall in front of them, causing Medic’s doves to go crazy and fly everywhere. The two men left the medibay as a string of shouted curses began to erupt from the room beyond the swinging doors.

 

Demoman grabbed Spy’s shoulders as soon as they were safe. “What the bloody hell were ye thinking, mate?!” he asked, “Engie said tae talk to him, not berate him!”

 

Spy rolled his eyes and picked Demoman’s hands off his expensive suit. “The laboreur wanted us to bring ‘im food, and we did that. I’m sure ‘e will be over it after a day of blood and guts; that seems to cheer ‘im up usually.”

 

Demoman rubbed the back on his neck. “Are ye sure?”

 

“Yes. I’m positive. Just trust me, I know Medic.”

 

“But Medic, he-“

 

“Trust. Me. See you in an hour.”

 

Demoman watched Spy go down to the hallway, most likely to his smoking room, and he rubbed his eye. All he could do was hope Spy was right as headed back to the resupply room, ignoring the sound of glass shattering and another German curse from behind him as he did so. Maybe Soldier will be there, and they could talk about explosions or guns for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translated convo between spy and medic:
> 
> Was, ähm ... wie spät ist es? = What, um ... what time is it?
> 
> Fünf Uhr sechsundvierzig = Five forty-six
> 
> Fünfzehn Minuten vor sechs?! = Fifteen minutes to six ?!
> 
> Tatsächlich. Wann bist du schlafen gegangen? = Indeed. When did you go to bed?
> 
> Fünf. Oh, Gott Verdammt = Five. Oh, God dammit
> 
> Other translations:
> 
> Tratschtante = Gossping aunt (German insult for a blabbermouth, generally for women)
> 
> Rotzlöffel = German insult for a cheeky, imrpudent brat
> 
> L'infirmière peut faire sa crise dans son coin = The nurse can have a temper tantrum by himself


	3. Interrogation Part 2: Heavy Is Not Helping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Medic is a raging dragon right now, then that makes Heavy a frost giant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a shorter chapter :x

“Aw, c’mon Heavy!”

 

“No.”

 

“But why-”

 

“Because I said no.”

 

Scout hung the upper portion of body in defeat and let out an exasperated sigh. Of course, he was the unlucky one who had to talk to Heavy. Why couldn’t it have been Spy? Heavy and Spy at least had their little nerd clubs about books once a month; they were closer to being friends than Scout was by far.

 

Now dressed and (almost) fully awake, Sniper was sent over too, but of course he was no help. He was just standing around and watching Heavy as he did bench presses in both fear and awe at how much he could lift. If Scout wasn’t careful with his words, Heavy could easily snap both men like twigs with one hand.

 

“Ya know, Heavy,” Scout tried again, resting an arm on top of one of the bench press’s poles, “Believe it or not, we’re worried 'bout you.”

 

Heavy scoffed and lifted the weights again. “Hmph, Ты правда обо мне беспокоишься?” he mumbled under his breath, _“ А вот он - нет._ ”

 

“Huh?” Scout said, “You say sometin’ dere buddy?”

 

“I say that you are liar.”

 

Scout frowned. “Huh? You think I don’t care 'bout _my_ teammates? _Me_? Not caring ‘bout the dudes I gotta spend years wit in the middle of da friggin desert? Who do ya think I am?”

 

“Same little man I spend all time in desert with. Only talk to me when you want something. Never think we were friends.”

 

Sniper snorted somewhere behind Scout, causing Scout to send a glare over his shoulder. “He’s right, mate,” Sniper commented.

 

“Man, shuddup, Snipes,” Scout snapped.

 

“But the kid’s right, Heavy,” Sniper continued, “This ain’t normal, especially for you. The hell could the doc say to upset you this much?”

 

“Am not upset,” Heavy grunted, doing another bench press, “Even if I do talk to Medic, will not matter.”

 

“Huh? Why not?”

 

“He can not stay mad forever. He just wants to be angry; letting emotions take over, as always. Soon he will stop being baby and see I am right.” Heavy finally put the large dumbbell back on the rack and sat up, cracking an stretching his back after doing so. His large form was glistening with sweat from his strenuous workout routine. Grabbing a nearby towel, he rubbed his face off.

 

“But not… _you_ , though?” Sniper said, scratching the back of his horribly sunburnt neck.

 

There was a moment of hesitation after Heavy pulled the towel away from his face. “No,” he responded firmly, “I’m… fine.”

 

Scout and Sniper looked at each other with doubt etched into their features. “You sure, big guy?” Scout asked.

 

“Yes. This is all I will say on subject.”

 

Heavy got up from the bench and walked out of the training room, most likely towards the showers before the daily battlements started. The way he held his towel in his white-knuckled fist told all: he was beyond irritated. Any fool could see his intimidating stature was now even more so, like he was ready to snap a man’s spine at any second if they bumped into him.

 

“Well, that went to piss,” Sniper commented, putting his hands on his hips.

 

“Everything’s ‘bout piss to you, ain’t it?” Scout commented, “Whadda we gonna do now?”

 

“I dunno, mate,” Sniper admitted with a shrug, “Maybe just wait it off for now. They both know we still gotta fight today- and try to win- anyways.”

 

Scout opened his mouth to object, but when he couldn’t think of anything to object to, he mirrored Sniper’s shrug.

 

Sure, Heavy and Medic were old farts, but they always would put winning before their emotions from outside the battlefield. Essentially, they were the posterchild team of _Mann Co._ at this point; competent and strong partners even when romance was out of the question. Something about their combined intelligence and raw power made them terrifying.

 

But this was completely different. The team hadn’t had to deal with the power couple splitting ever since they became an official couple, so no one was quite sure what to even do.

 

This whole situation reminded Scout of when he was twelve. His mom had finally dumped this sleazbag named Tony Swire who was a parasite of the household; he just sat around and drank beer while his mom worked her ass off. Scout and his brothers Jim and Jesse were playing baseball in the yard when shouting came from inside.

 

Next thing they knew, Tony was being thrown out of the front door along with his suitcases. Lots of yelling from both ends, but it never got physical, thankfully. Despite Tony being done for, Scout’s mom was still pissy for the rest of the week- yelling and threatening spankings for the smallest things. Scout and his brothers all agreed to not talk to their mom about it, in fear of getting the end of her wrath.

 

Perhaps this wouldn’t be any different.

 

Yeah, this will be fine. Nothing at all to worry about. Who’s worrying? Not Scout, that’s for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Ты правда обо мне беспокоишься? А вот он - нет = Do you really worry about me? Well, he isn't.  
> (Courtesy of a very helpful anon!!)


	4. Beta Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day of bloodshed for these violent (and apparently petty) men as Medic tries out something new.

Engineer scratched the top of his nearly bald head and furrowed his brow. He’s been working with these men for about three years now; he knew them well, maybe even enough to call some of them his good friends. Despite all the time spent and blood shed together, along with his genius mind and eleven PhD’s, he was no couple’s therapist.

 

“So, the big fella is just as angry as his pardner?” he asked Scout and Sniper as the three stood in the locker room, “Usually he’s good about keepin’ his cool. Demo told me the doc was throwin’ stuff at him and Spy. Never thought Heavy’d be like that, too.”

 

“Well, he ain’t _throwin’_ stuff at us,” Scout corrected.

 

“If he did, we’d probably be dead with our skulls caved in,” Sniper added.

 

“That’s true, I suppose,” Engineer chuckled, “Y’all are built up like toothpicks. All he’d hafta do is blow on y’all to take y’all down.”

 

“I wouldn’t be too sure if dat’s not what he’s gonna do if we piss him off,” Scout replied, “Any second he’s gonna blow up, I know it. I’m not gonna be around when dat happens.”

 

“Surely he could’ve said _somethin’_ to hint towards the start of this whole mess.”

 

“Nuh-uh. He said somet’in in Russian, and that Med was ‘letting his emotions get out of hand’ and all that crap.”

 

Engineer twirled his wrench in his hand for a moment before putting in back into his toolbelt, then rubbing his chin. “Maybe we outta let this go for a bit,” he concluded, “Give ‘em some time to breathe. Shoot, they might even make up before dinner- they’re two peas in a pod, and they ain’t the type for arguin’.”

 

“You sure ‘bout that, mate?” Sniper asked.

 

“Well, can’t do much right now,” Engineer replied, “But if y’all can, just keep a close eye on-”

 

His words were cut off by Scout smacking his arm repeatedly- light smacks like a fly swatter. Engineer opened his mouth to ask Scout what the hell has gotten into him, but Scout motioned his head somewhere behind Engineer, coupled with Sniper’s eyes widening and his mouth turning into a straight line.

 

Engineer didn’t even need to look over his shoulder to know that Heavy stepped into the room from the showers.

 

The locker room momentarily went silent as the giant man stepped in, as if time itself slowed to a standstill around him. Heavy gave passing glares as he walked to his locker, iciles jabbing into every man’s chests. He kept his grip on Sasha, who was much more polished than usual, tight in his enormous fists.

 

Within seconds activity resumed as normal, as if there wasn’t a Russian bear ready to maul any second if someone so much as breathed wrong. Sniper and Scout split off from their circle with Engineer and went to their respective lockers. Demoman and Soldier were sitting on one of the benches talking about a new type of hybrid bomb Demoman was working on as Soldier loaded his shotgun. Spy was off in the corner and waiting for the match to start, as usual.

 

It was ten minutes before the match. The only people who weren’t present right now were Pyro and Medic. Pyro was off getting Medic in case he fell asleep in the medibay again; they always loved doing those special tasks for Engineer. Though based off what Demoman told him, Engineer began to worry about today’s battlements and if Medic could even take a step out of respawn without passing out.

 

Luckily, he found his answer shortly after Heavy had entered the room. In the words of Engineer, Medic looked like something the cat dragged in. Unshaven face, wearing yesterday’s very bloodied uniform, and eyes that resembled a racoon more than a man. His posture was slumped, as if Pyro locking arms with his was the only thing keeping him standing.

 

Though what was most strange was the weapon he held in his hands. It was one of the prototype mediguns he and Engineer had been working on recently- a new mechanism called “The Quick-Fix.”  While it was tested many times within the past several weeks, that was in a controlled environment to prevent actual injuries. Neither had no idea how well it would work in battle, and it seemed like anything but a good idea for Medic to test it when he could barely stay awake.

 

Pyro let out a muffled call and dragged Medic over to Engineer, bouncing on their heels. Engineer forced himself to smile and patted Pyro’s shoulder the way Pyro liked when they finished a task. “Good job, Pyro,” he said, “Let ‘im go now. Battle’s about to start.”

 

Obediently, Pyro did as they were told, releasing their locked arms with Medic and skipping off to their sticker-covered locker. Medic rubbed his arm and turned his attention to the locker across from his, giving the stink eye. Heavy had been looking over his shoulder as well but turned away as soon as his eyes connected with Medic’s. Medic rolled his eyes and then turned to Engineer.

 

“I vas getting ready,” Medic grumbled, then turning to open his locker after setting The Quick-Fix down on the bench.

 

“Says the man using yesterday’s uniform, but I’m glad you’re able to be here today,” Engineer chuckle. He lifted his goggles and took a closer at the Quick-Fix, holding it in his hands. “Ain’t this the new medigun we’ve been tinkerin’ with this month? Mighty fine lookin’, ain’t she?”

 

“ _Ja_ ,” Medic replied with a flat tone, now not looking at Engineer as he pulled his Ubersaw out to test the blade.

 

“Takin’ out to finally test it, I see.”

 

“ _Ja_.”

 

“Somethin’ wrong with your normal one, or just felt like using this today?”

 

Medic turned to look down at Engineer, and silently glared at him for a few seconds behind his round frames. Engineer’s throat went dry and he put the Medigun back down. He didn’t need to turn and look, but he knew some of the others were watching in case Medic lashed out.

 

“Ja, I _know_ vhat I am doing,” Medic growled, “Stick to your machines, Dell, and I’ll stick to mine.”

 

Engineer swallowed hard, but he smiled again. “Sure thing, partner,” he agreed, patting Medic’s arm cautiously, “Let’s see how this baby can wreck those sons of bitches.”

 

“Hmph,” Medic scoffed, slamming his locker shut with a bang, causing Engineer to jump. Clearly Demoman wasn’t exaggerating this time when he said Medic looked like he was ready to kill anyone. Even during an argument, Medic and Heavy were so much alike in mannerisms that it would almost be cute if both weren’t ticking time bombs.

 

The biggest concern was if they would even work well together today. The last thing the team needed was one of their powerhouses ultimately fighting with each other instead of the enemy. Even a tiny bit of lack of motivation for cooperation would be detrimental. The whole team probably knew this, but it’s not like they could say anything.

 

Medic picked the Quick Fix back up after putting his Ubersaw and crossbow along his belt holder, then walked towards Demoman and Soldier. “Herr Soldier, you are vith me today.”

 

The two friends stopped talking and looked at Medic, Demoman furrowing his brow and Soldier most likely doing the same under his helmet.

 

“With you?” Soldier asked, “Why?”

 

“Aren’t ye gonna get left behind, doc?” Demoman asked, “Ye can’t exactly jump as much as me an’ Jane. No offense.”

 

“Zhis medigun is designed to match zhe upward velocity of my companion,” Medic explained in a deadpanned fashion, “It vill be no problem.”

 

Demoman and Soldier exchanged weird looks, but Soldier saluted anyways. “Yes, sir!” he replied.

 

“Good,” Medic finished, then walking off to check on the contents of the resupply cabinet in the next room.

 

\----

 

The match was ready to start in five minutes, as told by the Administrator’s voice booming overhead. Slowly but surely, the other mercenaries began to file into the resupply room. First Engineer with Pyro right behind, who was the most eager out of the nine mercenaries. Then it was Scout, followed by Sniper, and Scout was boasting about how many BLUs he was going to kill today. Finally, Heavy shuffled in with Sasha, not saying anything.

 

Soldier and Demoman were the last ones to stand up, stretching out any more stiff muscles and readying their weapons.

 

“Wait, Jane,” Demoman said as Soldier began to walk off, grabbing his arm, “Whatever ye do, dunnae say _anythin’_ about the fight to Medic.”

 

“You have my word,” Soldier agreed.

 

“Seriously, Jane,” Demoman reaffirmed, “I know you can run your mouth an’ have no filter.”

 

“I do _not_ have loose lips!” Soldier hollered, “I could be at gunpoint with all my limbs chopped off and I wouldn’t give away military secrets!”

 

“Ach, Jane, ye know what I mean.”

 

Soldier got out of Demoman’s face and looked at the tile floor. “You’re right… I’m sorry.”

 

Demoman grinned and slapped Soldier on the back. “Apology accepted,” he said, “Think we all need to keep outta their business. Have fun teachin’ the doc how to fly. Now let’s kill some o’ those wee lasses!”

 

They put in their sound-muffling ear plugs- courtesy of Engineer one year after the team formed and a confirmation from Medic that their hearing wasn’t what it used to be. Soldier had obliged at first, saying he was no weakling for needing “sissy little ear plugs,” but now he was the one to remind Demoman to take them if he was too hungover to remember.

 

_Mission begins in sixty seconds._

 

The two joined their teammates in the resupply room, eager as ever to get to the bloodshed as they pushed their way to the front next to Scout and Medic. Heavy was standing in the back as far away from Medic, and there was no doubt Medic was doing the same from the front.

 

_Mission begins in thirty seconds._

Soldier felt the new medigun beam flow through him like ambrosia, and he tightened his grip on his rocket launcher with a grin.

 

_Mission begins in ten seconds._

“Ready, Medic?” Soldier asked as he turned his head to look up at Medic, who let out a long yawn and quickly rubbed his eyes.

 

“ _Ja,_ sure…” Medic mumbled.

 

_Five._

 

Scout glanced back at Sniper, but nothing more. No reason to worry or dwell on something that didn’t affect him and his awesome BLU-killing skills.

 

_Four._

 

Demoman gave a silent prayer that Soldier wouldn’t destroy Medic’s powerful legs after one jump.

 

_Three._

Spy wasn’t too concerned for his teammate’s safety; Medic was a professional. He always knew what he was doing. Besides, it’s not like Medic choosing a new favorite would affect Spy’s task, so why should he care?

 

_Two._

Engineer looked at very foreign Medic and Soldier combination with a sinking feeling in his chubby gut.

 

_One._


	5. The Thrown and Falling Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soldier and Medic aren't the battlefield power couple, it seems. Medic's being a bully (bad meem!!!)

Ultimately, the team learned two valuable lessons this week. The first one was that Medic was a terrible. It was obvious from the very start that Medic was only using the Quick Fix prematurely because he left the Medigun running all night, so it wasn’t charged properly. He had no idea what he was doing, and it showed.

 

The second was that Soldier and Medic were a terrible team. Soldier, having no idea what it meant to have a not so rambunctious test run, took off like a great dog pulling on its owner’s leash. Within ten seconds of the match starting, Medic was flung halfway across the battlefield with both his arms pulled out of their sockets, crashing into an enemy Scout. Which was fine, as he somehow survived the crash landing, until the entire BLU team got to him.

 

This continued through the entire day, Medic barely getting to heal anyone after dying so much. The ever-oblivious Soldier wouldn’t slow down for anybody, especially not Medic; he seemed to think that flinging Medic as a projectile and have him die over and over was just another battle tactic.

 

Naturally, the BLU team steamrolled them with RED even scoring a point. It had been by far the worst match they’ve had in a long, long time, and Medic wasted no time letting everybody know, as he marched up to Soldier as soon as humiliation was over.

 

“What zhe _fuck_ was zhat?!” the angry doctor fumed, roughly grabbing Soldier by the shoulder to spin him around before they could step out of respawn. Everyone but Heavy and Pyro stopped walking to silently watch.

 

“What?” Soldier said, putting his hands on his helmet so it stopped jiggling.

 

“Don’t ‘vhat’ me!” Medic barked, jabbing a finger in Soldier’s face, “You saw how far you threw me today. _Ich war wie Archimedes_!”

 

“Maybe… you should have held on better.”

 

“You pulled my arms out of their sockets five times. _Five_ , and zhat’s not counting zhe twenty other times I was thrown. Do you not understand vhat team vork means, you zimpleton!”

 

Now Soldier was puffing out his chest to match Medic. “Speak English, and I can tell you the meaning of ‘ _team work_ ’ on my battlefield. I’m not changing my ways for your prissy ass.”

 

Medic grabbed Soldier by his shirt collar and hoisted him to eye level. His bloodshot eyes screamed death, but Soldier was hardly phased. “Who are you calling _prissy_?”

 

“You!”

 

Now a small crowd formed around the two, but neither acknowledged their onlooks. “Oh, ja, is zhat so?”

 

“I didn’t even see you get thrown around more than twice. I would have heard your girly screams from a mile away.”

 

Medic let go of Soldier’s shirt to raise his hands up in exasperation. “Oh, of course you vouldn’t _hear_ my screams, you _Tauber dummkopf_.”

 

Soldier gritted his teeth but slumped his shoulders. “You, you… wait what does that mean?”

 

“Forget it,” Medic growled, looking away and beginning to take a step away.

 

“I wanna know!”

 

“It’s not vorth it.”

 

“No, tell me at once!”

 

“I called you a deaf fool; it’s vhat you are, you moron! Must I spell out my insults for you?”

 

Now Soldier was the one grabbing Medic’s dirty lab coat. “Who are you calling _‘deaf’_ , Kraut!” He reeled his fist back with steam pouring out of his ears and his face as red as his shirt. Medic flinched for the incoming punch, but finally Demoman stepped in. He grabbed Soldier’s fist and put his other free hand on his shoulder to bring his friend back.

 

“Woah, woah, woah, calm down, mate!” he exclaimed- loud but in a soft tone.

 

“He started it!” Soldier cried, “That Kraut son of a-”

 

“Please, you started it after zhe sixth time you launch me into orbit. Plus, vhat I said is true.”

 

“Only partially, quack!”

 

“Jane, I know yer upset,” Demoman coerced.

 

“B-B-But he-“

 

“But yer both new at this, an’ Medic needs some shut eye after today? He probably didn’t mean it, right Doc?”

 

Medic folded his arms and looked at the floor, away from Demoman and Soldier. “I’m not tired… but I _guess_ I am sorry.”

 

“I… I guess I’m sorry for throwing you,” Soldier mumbled, rubbing his arm sheepishly.

 

Demoman smiled and clapped Soldier on the back. “Atta boy!” he said, then slinging an arm around Soldier’s shoulders, “How about we hit the showers an’ then we can crack open some beers?”

 

Soldier’s anger melted, and he nodded with a smile, unable to turn down his best friend no matter how angry he was. As the two, along with the other men, started to file out, Engineer approached Medic cautiously.

 

“Demo’s cookin’ tonight,” he said, “You want me to save you a plate so you can go rest?”

 

Medic glared down at Engineer and sneered. “ _Verpiss dich_ ,” he growled, then stomping down the hallway, leaving Engineer feeling a bit smaller than before.

 

Engineer didn’t want to be nosy, but he may or may not have picked Medic’s room lock to check on him after his quick shower. Sure enough, the doctor was fast asleep, still in his full uniform, minus the boots, and snoring soundly. Engineer couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

 

Heavy wasn’t at dinner that night. The table felt strangely empty without the two lovebirds there to fill the void; no one even felt right to sit in their usual spots. No one to shake the table with booming laughter at Sniper’s bad jokes, and no one to make people uncomfortable with morbid medical stories.

 

Demoman must have read Engineer’s mind and had two plates with saran wrap stuck in the fridge, each with appropriate names written in marker. By the next morning, Heavy’s plate was gone, and the plate was washed and put away.

 

Medic’s, however, was still sitting in there. Sniper left the plate in Medic’s office today, but followed advice to not try to talk to Medic today. The Medigun was no where to be seen, and the Quick-Fix was charging in its place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes partially deaf Soldier is a very important headcanon to me. I need more ;v;
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Ich war wie Archimedes = I was [flying] like Archimedes
> 
> Tauber dummkopf = Deaf fool
> 
> Verpiss dich = Fuck/Piss off


	6. You Take My Breath Away, Mr. Mikhail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavy teaches Sniper the improper way of spy-checking.

Despite Medic getting more than forty minutes of sleep and Soldier being aware of the physics of the Quick-Fix by now, the rest of the week wasn’t much better than Monday. Medic still experienced rough landings, but his stubborn nature refused himself from acknowledging the fractures until it was too late, and he was face-to-face with the enemy.

 

Other times Soldier would cross treacherous gaps, but Medic’s delayed jump would cause him to leave Soldier from faceplanting into the ravine walls. His reaction time was still slower, due to him still not getting more than a few hours of sleep every night. No matter what they did, Soldier was just too fast for Medic to keep up.

 

Medic still berated Soldier relentlessly after the matches, following him to the showers before slamming the door to his room to sulk. Thankfully, Soldier was told very carefully to not react, though that was only a temporary solution. Soldier was practically _cowering_ like an abused housewife in the face of Medic, afraid to fight back and Medic bring up personal details for insult material.

 

Naturally, everyone got the same treatment. If you got killed once or failed to protect the ever-important Medic, he let you know, and would personalize it.

 

“Vhat are you, blind in _both_ eyes?”

 

“Ja, let’s just run avay from zhe man trying to heal you. No vonder you got blown up harder zhan any girl vill ever do to you.”

 

“Ach, you scream for help vhen you’re invisible and covered in urine; just like a true Frecnh coward.”

 

“Did you have fun protecting your robot vife vhile you vatched zhat spy backstab me, American?”

 

However, the person who received the most backlash besides Soldier was Heavy, but Heavy didn’t react at all, at least not outwardly. His performance lacked as much as his emotions, because apparently him going solo was a terrible idea.

 

It was amazing that a spy never disguised as him for the entire week for how out-of-character his fighting style was. He over-extended often, trudging into enemy territory with fists raised and guns toted, only to get obliterated in two seconds. Not like Medic would overheal him anyways- in fact, both were in silent agreement to be as far away from each other as they could.

 

Which made Heavy easy bait for the enemy spies to backstab him repeatedly- for the first few days at least. He soon went to the complete opposite problem where Heavy assumed everyone was a spy. He nearly beat his own team mates to death on multiple occasions with his bare fists because they took one step behind him.

 

The closest instance was Sniper on Wednesday. Sniper was running to the front lines as fast as he could with the teleporter destroyed. He skidded around a corner to reach his nest, but unluckily for him, Heavy happened to be around that corner.

 

Sniper’s arms turned to jelly, and he dropped his rifle with a clatter out of surprise, sucking in all his breath. Luckily, he picked it back up and began to walk past Heavy when the larger man didn’t turn around. At least, he thought so.

 

Without warning, Heavy dropped his shotgun, stuck his arm out, and within a second Sniper was in a chokehold against the nearby wall. Sniper smacked and kicked Heavy, his hat and sunglasses going askew in the process.

 

“H-Heavy, Heavy!” he choked, “’t’s me, S-Snoipah!”

 

This caught the attention of Demoman before he could sticky jump, who ran over in a panic. He clamped onto Heavy’s other meaty forearm and shook him vigorously, eye wide. “Stop mate, stop!” he cried, “He’s on our side, he’s not a bloody spy!”

 

Heavy not only didn’t say anything, but he also tightened his grip on Sniper’s neck. Meanwhile Sniper’s face was turning a worrying shade of red very quickly, and his kicks to Heavy’s stomach got less frequent.

 

“Heavy, seriously, ye gunnae kill him!”

 

Heavy growled but dropped Sniper in a few seconds with a thud after silently remembering disguised spies can’t hit and kick. Sniper held his throat and sputtered on the ground, drool running down the corner of his mouth.

 

“Go cry for Medic,” Heavy muttered. He picked his shotgun back up and went back towards the front lines, each step a hefty stomp.

 

Demoman knelt beside and held Sniper’s back up, patting his back. “Take deep breaths, lad,” he said, “Ye alright?”

 

Sniper was still coughing too much to respond, but he gave a feeble nod. The red marks on his neck indicated there would be a nasty bruise for a while, since friendly fire wounds didn’t get solved by respawn, and Medic was too busy getting shot like a slingshot to heal anyone but Soldier.

 

Demoman sighed and led Sniper over to his nest where the man could recuperate. Through the window of the high point, Demoman watched with contempt as Heavy got backstabbed by the actual BLU spy.

 

\----

 

“What in Sam Hill is _that_?”

 

“I dunno, ask the angry giant.”

 

Engineer examined Sniper’s thick purple neck wounds, wincing to himself at how back they looked. With that and the hoarseness of Sniper’s voice, it was starting to get apparent that Heavy was just as upset with Medic as Medic was with him. Engineeer grabbed an ice bag from the medibay (while Medic was in his room, of course) and gave it to the bushman.

 

“Thanks mate,” Sniper croaked, holding the relief to his tender neck. The two, along with Scout and Demoman, were all sitting in the locker room on one of the long benches. Scout folded his arms and tapped his foot rapidly, while Demoman was keeping his eye on Sniper.

 

“Man, I’m getting’ sick of these chucklefucks!” Scout exclaimed, “Why can’t they just keep their business in dere bedroom?!”

 

“Probably not as simple as one of them not being able to get it up, kid,” Sniper replied.

 

“Stop talking, it’s just gonna feel worse,” Engineer said.

 

“Sorry,” Sniper mumbled.

 

“But he’s right. I mean, sure, we’ve all gotten a taste of Medic this week, but at least he’s jus’ blowin’ steam. I can understan’ Medic getting his emotions outta whack, but Heavy? It ain’t like him.”

 

“Surprised the voice above isn’t gunnae reprimanding him for friendly fire,” Demoman grumbled, shaking his head.

 

“Doubt it,” Engineer argued, “That’s only if he killed Sniper here.”

 

“He could ‘ave, an’ he would ‘ave!”

 

“Demo, I know you’re upset, an’ you got every right to be.”

 

“So, what’re we gonna do now, Hardhat?” Scout asked.

 

Engineer went silent, furrowing his brow as the calculations in his brain went crazy. Eventually, he stood up and took off his goggles, rubbing his eyes. “Lemme sleep on it,” he said.

 

“We’re just gonna give up?!” Scout snapped, “Look at Sniper!”

 

“I said, ‘I’ll sleep on it’,” Engineer snapped back. He walked all the way to the showers without any more hesitation, still trying to think of every algorithm he’s ever witnessed to figure out how to fix problems in the hearts of men.


	7. Everybody Can Be Doing Something, and We'll Do Nothing!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the best plan of action is to raise your white flag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling nice so here's another chapter less than 24 horus after posting the last one :3c

Along with the pattern of Heavy and Medic not joining dinner, and instead eating on their own time, Sniper wasn’t going to dinner that night. He said he just needed to lie down for a bit, and no one could blame him. That didn’t mean that the rest of the team still missed his presence, albeit a quiet one, at the table. At least Spy took over his cooking duties for the night (though the exotic cuisines Spy made could never beat Sniper’s Shepard’s Pie.)

 

Mealtime felt awkward with a third of the team gone. Soldier had been unusually quiet lately, so his loud presence being absent just added to the thick air. The men were happy to eat in complete silence until Engineer spoke up.

 

“Wow, Spy,” he said optimistically, “This, uh… dish…”

 

“ _Csirkepaprikás_ ,” Spy corrected, “It’s a ‘ungarian dish I ‘ad during a… business trip years ago.”

 

“Yeah, this ‘sheer-pee-pop-’… ‘sheer-pri-’… well, it’s good. Thanks for takin’ over while Sniper’s restin’.”

 

Spy scoffed. “I still don’t see ‘ow a little bruise would make ‘im want to skimp out on cooking duties.”

 

“More than jus’ a bruise, Spy,” Engineer said, “Heavy got ‘im good.”

 

“Then why don’t we put ‘im through respawn?” Spy asked sourly.

 

“Respawn’s off now,” Scout said, “Besides, friendly fire don’t count in there. Well, it does, but it’s friggin slow. Remember when Soldier broke my arm when we were wrestlin’?”

 

“Yes,” Spy replied with a snort, “You screamed like a girl.”

 

“Did not!” Scout shouted, almost standing up, but Pyro put a hand on him to lower him back to his seat. Scout grumbled but continued anyways. “Anyways, dat shit was broken for a week. Good thing I am totally friggin awesome at using my bat wit’ one hand.”

 

“Mmmpph mmmph mm mmph,” Pyro said, then lifting up their mask up only enough to let their spoon in to eat their stew.

 

“Yeah Pyro, I’m afraid ol’ Sniper’s gonna be like that for a bit,” Engineer responded.

 

“Still gotta battle tomorrow, though, right?” Scout asked.

 

“Gonna hafta,” Engineer admitted.

 

“Still think we should give Heavy an arse woopin’,” Demoman said, shaking his head as he swished his spoon around the now empty bowl.

 

“It was an honest mistake,” Engineer reasoned, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it.”

 

“No, no, he meant it,” Demoman said bitterly, “’He didn’t mean it,’ is for when you’re reprimandin’ a dog for pissin’ on the carpet, not when a full-grown man with fancy schoolin’ nearly chokes yer mate to death.”

 

Engineer opened his mouth to speak but turned his head away. Demoman then directed his attention to Soldier next to him, tapping him on the forearm. “How’s yer sheer-pee stew taste, Jane?”

 

Soldier exchanged eye contact with Demoman (or at least he probably did under his helmet) and shrugged. “It’s good,” he replied, “As good as Frenchie’s foreign junk tastes.”

 

Spy rolled his eyes. “Not enough grease you Americans call ‘flavor’ for you?” he hissed. Soldier didn’t respond and kept eating quietly, as did everyone else for the duration of dinner.

 

\----

 

In a kind of morbid sense, Scout was glad that Sniper’s neck was sore because that meant Pyro made their famous hot chocolate. Naturally, Scout convinced them to make him a mug too since he “helped out” by getting the canteens and ingredients out. Scout sighed blissfully as he finished another sip while the two walked out to Sniper’s van.

 

“Damn, Mummbles, I need to get hurt more often so I can get more of this,” he said, “Reminds me of when I was a kid.”

 

Pyro giggled bashfully and shoved Scout in a playful manner, but still hard enough to almost make Scout lose his balance.

 

“Hope Sniper likes this thing Spy made,” Scout wondered, swishing the soup he carried in the identical canteen he held in his opposite hand, “That dude’ll eat anyt’ing. You know I once saw him eat a whole jar a peanut butter for dinner once when he was passin’ a joint wit’ me, and dat was before we lit up.”

 

Pyro tilted their head at the slang Scout used and let out a confused “mmmph” to go with it.

 

“Uh, never mind,” Scout replied, “Anyways, the guy’s like the team goat. Sure he’ll like this.”

 

They reached Sniper’s van shortly after their conversation ended. Thankfully, light was streaming from inside, so hopefully Sniper was still awake. Pyro took the liberty to knock on the flimsy door, then stepped back. There was a short pause where the two considered knocking again, but the door opened before they decided to follow through with that.

 

Sniper poked his head out and looked down at the two. He was already in his pajamas- a baggy t-shirt that adorned the ghosts of at least six different foods on the fabric and sweatpants he had since high school. His neck still looked ugly and purple, though.

 

“I said I didn’t want visitors,” Sniper croaked, “I’ll see you tomorrow for the battles.” He began to close the door again, but Scout put his foot in front of it.

 

“Wait, wait, wait, ow, ow!” Scout said, “C’mon, we brought you Pyro’s famous hot chocolate!”

 

A pause, then Sniper opened the door back up, stepping aside. “Fine, you can come in for a bit,” he mumbled.

 

Pyro and Scout wasted no time taking him up on that offer, letting themselves in to the cramped yet cozy space. They set Sniper’s canteens on the table, and Pyro jumped up onto Sniper’s bed before Sniper could protest. The radio was playing some British rock band that Sniper was into these days.

 

“Well, I was gonna roll up, but I guess eatin’s good too,” Sniper said as he sat down at the mini table for two. Scout nodded and stood awkwardly in the middle on the room. “C’mon, kid, don’t be shy. Take a load off like Matches up there.”

 

“O-Oh, yeah, right,” Scout stammered as he stumbled into the other seat. He scratched the back of his neck as he watched Sniper begin to pour his stew into a paper bowl. “You were gonna roll up now, with your… with your neck and all?”

 

“Mary Jane don’t mind if my throat hurts,” Sniper replied, “If you send your friend off, you can join me in a few.”

 

Scout looked over his shoulder at Pyro swinging their feet off the bed in obliviousness, then turned back to Sniper. “Nah, not tonight. So, um, yow you feelin’?”

 

Sniper gave a momentary glance up to Scout. “How do you _think_ I feel?” he deadpanned.

 

“Alright, I get it, dat was a stupid question,” Scout said.

 

“No worries, just been gettin’ that all day. I ain’t there, but I can already tell it’s just ‘poor Sniper’ all over the base. I don’t need your pity.”

 

“Y’know… Demo said we should go beat Heavy up till he apologizes to you.”

 

Sniper shook his head. “Again, I don’t need your pity. I get what Heavy’s going through; it ain’t a big deal.”

 

Scout furrowed his brow. “So dat’s it? You’re just gonna sit here and take it?”

 

“Pretty much. I reckon you two do the same too.”

 

“What? Just let those two throw all us around like ragdolls until one of us actually ends up dead?”

 

“Yep. That’s the plan.”

 

“Why?”

 

“If you want my opinion,” Sniper said between stew spoonfuls, “Truckie made this all happen.”

 

“You seriously think Engie did this?” Scout said in disbelief.

 

“He wanted us to all play therapists and get mummy and daddy to make up. Only thing is that he didn’t understand that egging them on instead of letting them just cool off on their own made it worse, ‘specially when we did it the mornin’ after. They may be old men in love, but they’re still dangerous and emotional killing machines. We gotta let this blow over for a bit before we can try to get in on this.”

 

Scout folded his arms and looked at the random pattering on the table. “I… ya know, dat actually makes a bitta sense, now dat I t’ink about it.”

 

“Yeah, listen to uncle Sniper on this one,” Sniper agreed.

 

“Yeah, yeah I should!” Scout said, “Why am I carin’ bout what Engie wants? If he wants to be Cupid, he can friggin do it. Not my problem.”

 

“See, Engie isn’t always right after all,” Sniper said with sly smirk and a raspy voice, “Next time I see ‘im, I’ll tell ‘im where to stick those bloody hoops he wants us to jump through.”

 

Pyro listened to Scout and Sniper bad mouth Engineer as they laid back on Sniper’s bed with their feet hanging down. They let out a muffled sigh but didn’t feel like trying to argue with the two team mates who understood them the least.

 

Who cares what they thought? Pyro would stick by Engineer so Heavy and Medic would stop being so mean, and that was a promise!


	8. Scottish Offense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demo's sober, and he's angry.

As usual, the battlements started at seven o’ clock sharp in the morning and the nine men readied themselves in the locker room beforehand, but something felt off. As if their collective view of reality was shifted two spots to the left, leaving everything different. The fluorescent lights overhead shined a bit duller than normal, and all the tiny sounds were amplified- the shuffling of clothes, the clacking of weapons being put together, the occasional cough.

 

Perhaps the lack of conversation made those sounds more noticeable. There wasn’t much to talk or joke about, and with both Heavy and Medic in the room- still not even looking at one another- it was dangerous too. However, Heavy eventually broke the silence when Sniper entered the room, his neck bruises still an unpleasant black and purple.

 

Heavy allowed Sniper to go next to him and open his locker before speaking. He cleared his throat with a deep rumble. “I am sorry about neck,” he said dryly, “Think you were Spy sneaking up on me.”

 

Sniper glanced over with surprise for a moment, while being fully aware Scout was watching from his other side. “No worries, mate,” he replied quietly, “’onest mistake. Happens to the best of us.”

 

Heavy paused. “Did you see Medic about it?”

 

Sniper looked over his shoulder and saw Medic was looking back as well, but not at him. He was glaring at Heavy, and Heavy had looked at him as well, expression not as bitter as Medic but something angry boiling underneath. The first time the two had looked at each other for days.

 

Medic then shot Sniper the same look and sneered, turning back to his own locker. “I can’t help vith zhat bruising,” he rebuked, “You know zhe rules of friendly fire, _Mikhail_.”

 

Heavy rolled his eyes and turned back to Sniper, who was practically holding his breath between the tension. “I am sorry I asked team doctor to help hurt comrade. It is not _his_ job to help hurt and sick.”

 

Everyone in the locker room heard the rubber of Medic’s gloves squelch in tightening. Funny how sometimes a small, insignificant thing could be forgotten until it is gone. Something as small as Medic calling Heavy by his full name, or Heavy referring to Medic by his class title- both sounding foreign coming out of the mouths of the two men- were those funny things.

 

The announcer boomed over the intercom, and the mercenaries filed into the respawn room. Soldier had a hunch in his slower walk than usual, and Sniper walked as far away from Heavy as he could, even if that meant being next to Medic.

 

\----

 

Saturday was the final verdict: RED had not won a single game this week. No one was surprised, but it didn’t help team morale at all. Medic was really wailing on Soldier to let him know how much he hated working with him, but by now nobody would stop to break it up. Soldier could take the abuse, he always could. He just didn’t look at Medic as he put his weapons back in his locker, so the others left him be.

 

Medic was supposed to cook tonight, but his room was locked, and he ignored Engineer when he came knocking. Engineer didn’t mind, though; he could whip up some gumbo in no time with some of the ingredients Spy left from his Hungarian stew on Wednesday and the peppers Pyro used for stir fry yesterday.

 

As Engineer was heading back to the kitchen, he ran into Scout leaving his own room with his cleats son and a bag of chips in his hand. His hair was still damp from the shower he just hopped out of, and he was wearing pajamas. He waved idly to Engineer. “Hey, Hardhat,” he greeted.

 

“Evenin’, Scout,” Engineer replied with a smile.

 

“Shit game today, huh?” Scout said.

 

“Yep, sure was. Listen, I’m makin’ gumbo tonight, so try to save some room.”

 

Scout frowned. “Can’t I get a bowl in the fridge like Heavy and Medic? And ain’t Medic supposed to be cookin’, not you?”

 

“Their circumstances are… different. ‘sides, I doubt you’re gonna be drivin’ out to Teufort with no car.”

 

“Yeah, sure, ‘different’,” Scout muttered, “No, that’s cool. I’m gonna be hangin’ wit Snipes tonight, so he’s out too.”

 

Engineer’s smiled faded and he scratched his head absent of a hat. “Oh… alright. Well, the offer’s still standin’ if you two need somethin’ to eat, ‘less Demo and Soldier eat it all before you.”

 

Scout chuckled with limited enthusiasm. “Alright, I’ll t’ink about it. Night.”

 

Engineer limply waved his hand as he watched Scout leave. No, Engineer wasn’t his dad, and hardly even a father figure to someone who was now twenty-five and could make his own decisions. Though something about Scout going out on his own still stung.

 

Now that he thought about it, Engineer never had kids of his own. Before working for RED, he was in school and work constantly. During the day he worked at local mechanics, then at professional companies, when classes weren’t in session, and at night he studied his ass off. There was never any time for romance; the last date he had was when he was sixteen and getting his first PhD.

 

Though he guessed he was lucky to grow up with a supportive and intelligent father. Scout never had someone to teach him how to play baseball in the yard or disassemble and reassemble his first Ford with custom parts when he was seven. Maybe Scout imprinted on him a little, and Engineer imprinted right back.

 

But only just a little, of course.

 

\----

 

By the time Engineer finished his gumbo, he was surprised to see everybody, but Pyro, was missing from the table. Pyro was bouncing excitedly in their seat, but surely, they felt odd about being the only one sitting. Engineer set a bowl of his world-famous gumbo in front of Pyro, still puzzled.

 

Had he finished his soup in record time? No, that wasn’t it; the clock on the wall confirmed that he was right on time with dinner, as always. He furrowed his brows and poked his head outside the kitchen to the empty hallways.

 

“Uh… y’all hungry?” he called, “This gumbo ain’t gonna eat itself. Demo? Soldier?”

 

Engineer sighed and looked at Pyro. Pyro lifted their mask just enough to eat merrily with their androgynous mouth and jaw shape. Deciding that there was no use in ringing a dinner bell like his mama did back when he was a kid, Engineer dished himself a bowl from the pot and sat in his usual spot. Sure, it was a seat across from Pyro, but Engineer still didn’t experience this absence of men long enough to want to sit in their seats.

 

“H-Hey Pyro,” Engineer said softly, “How’s the gumbo?”

 

Pyro paused their eating and nodded silently with a smile, then returning to the food at hand. Engineer grinned back, then dunked his spoon in to take a bite and see how his own cooking holds up in his eyes.

 

At least he was, until Demoman barged in like he materialized out of thin air. “ _You!_ ” he bellowed. Engineer dropped his spoon and it clattered back into the bowl, causing it to splatter the table and Engineer’s overalls. He glowered and sat up in his chair.

 

“Relax, I was gonna save some-” he began, but was cut off by Demoman marching up to him and grabbing him by the shirt, lifting him out of his chair. A look of rage glowed in Demoman’s eye, a look that hasn’t been seen in Demoman for a while- one of pure, sober rage. Pyro lifted their mask back down and cowered away as Engineer went speechless.

 

“So, yer gunnae ‘sleep on it,’” Demoman growled, “Yer gunnae sleep on it. Did you?”

 

“S-Sleep?” Engineer stammered, “Sleep, sleep on what?”

 

“ _Did ya_ or did ya _not_ sleep on how you’re gunnae fix our little problems all nice an’ cozy in yer fairy land?”

 

Engineer put his hands up in defense. “I… Demo, I’m still tryin’ to think about it. Gimme some time. This is a delicate matter, a-a-an-”

 

“Oh, so it’s all about being _delicate_ is it? Yer so afraid of hurtin’ their wee feelin’s an’ being straight wit the two when they’re affectin’ the team.”

 

Demoman dropped Engineer back in his seat but placed his hands on either sides of Engineer immediately so he couldn’t escape- one on the chair and one of the table. His bowl of gumbo teetered again, spilling even more. Pyro was now standing, holding their own bowl securely in their hands.

 

“So, ye wanna be _delicate_ , aye?” Demoman continued, voice low and threatening with the corners of his mouth twitching in a snarl, “Oh, tongue ma fart-box, ya fuckin’ walloper. Lemme tell you somethin’ that everyone else is too afraid to say, I suppose; yer a coward.”

 

“A… coward?” Engineer repeatedly quietly.

 

“Yes, an’ let me tell you somthin’ about bein’ _delicate_. Ya know who I was just with? Tha’ same person who had to get the short end of the stick because you’ve been draggin’ yer feet all bloody week. Soldier, yelling and prideful Soldier, could not leave the bloody locker room. Lucky I forgot mah Scrumpy in there ‘fore the battle, ‘cause you bet me mum’s arse he’d still be there if I hadn’t, ye?

 

“I look at him, an’ he gives me the thousand-yard stare. He looks at me, an’ ye know what he says? Ye know what he _bloody_ says? He turns to me, an’ asks me, ‘Tavish, do ye think I’m a mental defect? A good for nothin’ deaf moron who’s a failure of a soldier?’ He was serious, an’ I couldn’t believe me bloody ears.”

 

Engineer’s eyes widened. “He… seriously?” he whispered in horror, “No, Medic couldn’t have… he’d never go that far, stoop that low.”

 

“Oh, but he _did_!” Demoman yelled, “Aren’t we lucky tha’ Medic is the one of the two tha’ speaks better English and knows all those fancy insults? Ye should’ve seen the look on Jane’s face; he’s afraid, Engie, he’s _afraid_ o’ Medic. He’s been tryin’ to keep it together all week, for the team- he told me so. But it’s hurtin’ him, and I dunnae how long he’s gonna last wit that abuse, but lemme tell ya, I’m puttin’ mah foot down.”

 

“But of course, all that matters are the two lovebirds fightin’, accordin’ to you. That we should all just take it until yer big brain comes up wit a solution. Have ye even _thought_ about how we’re all dealing wit it?”

 

Engineer slammed his robotic hand on the table. More gumbo splashed onto the surrounding surfaces. “What do ya want me to do?!” he yelled back, “You think I _wanted_ this? I just assumed it wouldn’t get that bad. I’ve got both sides tellin’ me to do opposite things, an’ frankly I’m stumped. ‘Sides, Soldier’s always been able to handle that stuff; he’s dished out his fair share of insults in the past.”

 

 “But he _never_ would stoop to that level!” Demoman snapped, “So here’s what’s gunnae happen, ye daft cunt! I’m givin’ you till the end o’ the ceasefire to fix this, ‘cause I’m sick o’ waitin’ for you to be a matchmaker! If ye haven’t fixed our little problem, I’m going after both o’ the rotten scrotes till me knuckles are bloody. For Sniper, for Jane, an’ for every match we lost this week ‘cause they can’t _grow up_ , and that includes you!”

 

Demoman finished off his yelling with a slam on the table, finally toppling over the bowl of gumbo, spilling it on the table and floor. He huffed with ragged breaths and he was trembling with the aftershocks of his rage. His finally un-pinned Engineer and stood up straight, the look of fury still in his fiery stare.

 

Engineer blinked as he tried to process Demoman’s rant, and exchanged looks with Pyro, who was still cowering in the corner of the kitchen, holding their bowl of soup like a life force. For once, Engineer didn’t know what to say other than…

 

“I… I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he whispered, shaking his head, “I… I just wanted to keep everythin’ together.”

 

“Well ye did a bloody shite job,” Demoman spat, then turned on his heel to stomp out.

 

Cautiously, Pyro moved to sit back down, though this time they sat right next to Engineer where Heavy usually sat. They put a hand on Engineer’s shoulder and let out a quiet muffled sound for sympathy. Engineer just blankly watched the gumbo drip onto the tile floor, a hole forming in his gut.

 

“Well, that was a lot more intense than I thought.”

 

Both Pyro and Engineer jumped when the voice spoke, and a cloud of smoke materialized in one of the other seats at the table, revealing Spy sitting casually. He took out his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke into the air. A sly smirk spread across his lips.

 

Engineer glared. “What, you here to rub it in?” he hissed, “Fine, I’ll fuckin’ say it! You were right, an’ you told me so! I dunno why I even bothered tryin’ to fix things; all I did was make everythin’ worse for everyone.”

 

“I will give you some credit,” Spy argued, “I thought you’d make less progress, but ‘ey, you got them to talk.”

 

“Don’t bullshit me!” Engineer said, “None of this woulda happened if I just kept my mouth shut. Now the whole team hates me, an’ there’s nothin’ I can do about it.”

 

“Oh, come now, now’s not the time for dramatics. I would not say I _‘ate_ you, per say, and neither does Pyro. That’s a quarter of the team right there. Plus, you still ‘ave your gumbo, which I must admit is not bad… for greasy American food.”

 

“Yeah…” Engineer muttered in agreement as Spy put out his cigarette in the table’s ash tray. Then, as if the light bulb in Engineer’s brain went on, his eyes widened, and he felt the Lord bless him from above. He jumped up from his chair and grabbed Spy’s hand. “Spy, Spy! That’s it!”

 

“What?” Spy said, looking disgusted that Engineer was holding his hand.

 

“I know how we can get Heavy and Medic to talk!” Engineer exclaimed, “’member when you brought Medic some food and he actually talked to you?”

 

“Yes, unfortunately,” Spy replied, “The ‘e assaulted me with medical equipment.”

 

“Thank the Lord, Spy, you’re a genius!” Engineer exclaimed, “Can you get everyone to meet here tomorrow mornin’, ‘cept Heavy and Medic.”

 

Spy raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?” he wondered, “I don’t care if everyone is friends again or not.”

 

“I… I’ll take your laundry duty for a month!” Engineer smiled and stuck out his hand. “C’mon, what do ya say?”

 

Spy hesitated, but he shook Engineer’s hand. “Alright, let’s get to work, _mon _ami__ _.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew that was a lot. poor solly and demo :((  
> Next few chapters are gonna be sweeter and won't have engi, spy, or pyro.  
> eughhhhh idk how to feel about this chapter


	9. Jane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, showering can refresh the body and clear your mind of things that are bothering you. Only apparently, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features art by aestheticrunch on tumblr, who made my week with the surprise art! Check it out here -> http://aestheticrunch.tumblr.com/post/172167136734/httpsarchiveofourownorgworks13628517chapters

Demoman wasn’t mad. The point of simply being mad at this whole situation was long gone; he was done being mad much earlier this week. No, Demoman was _livid_.

 

The second he stormed out of the kitchen after yelling his lungs out, he was close to turning right back around and beat the snot out of that little Texan. How _dare_ he just sit there and pretend everything was fine when everyone else was clearly suffering under the hands of the old ex-lovers? Engineer was supposed to be the sensible and compassionate one. Demoman was pissed that it took him that long to not see that Engineer was a spineless coward who clearly picked favorites on who he wants to help.

 

As mad as he was, he took a deep breath when he reached the door to Soldier’s room- the last he needed was to blow up at Soldier, who might blow up back. When Demoman left him to go yell at Engineer, he had told Soldier to just take a shower, which was roughly two minutes for Soldier’s internal military clock. He must be out by now.

 

Demoman knocked carefully, hand on the knob. “Jane?” he called, “Ye decent?”

 

No response. He knocked again after several moments of the silence and repeated this sequence three more times. Demoman knit his eyebrows together; it wasn’t like Soldier to just ignore people knocking at his door, even if he was bare naked.

 

Demoman probably wasn’t supposed to do this, but he opened the creaking door with caution and poked his head in. Lights were off, and the bed was still neatly made from this morning. _‘Must still be showering,’_ he thought with a shrug.

 

No worries. Demoman could wait for him, shutting the door and leaning against the wall of the hallway.

 

So, he waited. And waited. And waited.

 

Demoman waited for nearly twenty minutes before realizing something was very, very wrong, as told by the sinking feeling in his gut. Soldier was a man of rigid routines, and from Monday to Saturday, that was no different. Soldier would never break his routine of immediately going back to his room to clean his weapons after his two-minute shower. Then again, Soldier wasn’t really himself lately.

 

Demoman opened Soldier’s door again and flicked on the lights to look for clues. Everything was obsessively clean and organized, yet with no decorations beyond a giant American flag stretching across the wall over his bed. There was no indentations or wrinkles to suggest anyone has sat on the bed since it was made today.

 

As Demoman took a step towards the bed and side table to get a closer look, something caught his eye from the bare wall nearby. Then, as if one cue, Demoman heard a crunch under his boot as soon as he noticed the object. Demoman sucked in all the breath he could and shut his eye, heart dropping.

 

“Please don’ be his aid, please don’ be his aid, _please don’ be his aid_ ,” he muttered to himself as he took his foot away and forced his eye back open.

 

Sure enough, cracked remains of one of Engineer’s custom-made hearing aids laid in pieces under where Demoman’s foot was. Demoman winced and brought his attention back to what caught his eye in the first place. It was the other aid, sitting on the floor also in pieces, as if it had been thrown.

 

 _‘Like it’s been thrown…,’_ Demoman thought before running out of the room. He had to find Soldier.

 

He checked everywhere he thought Soldier could be. The rec room, the courtyard where some exercise equipment was sprawled, and the battlefield, but all came up empty-handed. Demoman even reluctantly checked the kitchen to his luck Engineer was gone, but so was everyone else, with no Soldier. He couldn’t have been in the medibay, and he almost never leaves the base for any reason, especially not by himself.

 

Though there was one place he hadn’t looked: the showers.

 

He crept back down his original path, leading him to the locker room. It was empty, yet the fluorescent lights still lit up overhead, illuminating off the dirty tile floor that still had fresh dirt and blood over it. The faint pitter-pattering of water emitted from the connected showers, confirming that Demoman indeed wasn’t alone. Still, he proceeded with discretion- the last thing he wanted was to run into Heavy or Medic showering and not being able to control his urge to punch their lights out.

 

Strangely enough, when Demoman entered and initially scanned the aisle of shower stalls with waist-length barriers, he didn’t see anyone. What he did find, however, was a shower still running. Demoman sighed, shaking his head lightly.

 

“Tha nerve of sum people,” he muttered. The rest of his team obviously never grew up with a feisty mother who would smack his wrists for washing his hands for even a second too long. No use in making a witch hunt for whoever did that. He’ll just turn it off, then continue search for Soldier. As Demoman walked closer, he took note of the excessive water on the floor leading up to that end stall splashing under his boots, and how he could swear it sounded like the water was hitting metal.

 

Before he could step into the stall, he jumped and stopped in his tracks. Turns out he wasn’t alone after all because he finally found Soldier.

 

Soldier was sitting with his back against one stall wall, while his folded-up legs pressed against the opposite wall. He was still fully clothed- boots, shirt, pants, helmet and all, the water drumming against his helmet rhythmically and shielding his face. His head was hung, staring down at his chest from the minimal visual space his helmet didn’t block, and arms limp at his sides.

 

 

“Jane?” Demoman asked, “What’re ye doin’? I…”

 

He shook his head, remembering Soldier probably couldn’t even hear him come in. He instead turned off the water, then sat down next to Soldier with his legs crossed under him. They sat in silence for what felt like minutes and minutes, Soldier not moving at all. Demoman would have feared Soldier may be dead, had it not been for the light falling and rising of his chest.

 

Finally, Soldier decided to speak. “I was using that,” he murmured quietly, unnaturally quiet for Soldier.

 

Demoman exhaled. “Jane, what happened?” he asked, tapping Soldier’s forearm. It took another silent several moments before Soldier spoke again.

 

“Do you think I deserve this?” Soldier asked. He still wasn’t looking at Demoman, but surely, he knew he was there. “You think this is payback for how I treated Medic when we first started working together? I called him names, too. He was just waiting for the right time to strike.”

 

The words hit Demoman’s ears like hot iron and melted his heart. He shook his head. “Jane, look at me!” he said, louder this time, but still no response. He knew he shouldn’t ever, _ever_ do this, but now he was desperate. Demoman grabbed Soldier’s shoulder to swivel his upper body and force him to make eye contact.

 

Naturally, Soldier’s instincts immediately kicked in. His hands sprung up to grab Demoman’s wrists, and his legs ready to launch the rest of him to standing. Demoman had a momentary fear that Soldier was going to wallop him and give him a shiny black eye for a black Scotsman. Though before he should have done so, Soldier froze. He just held himself in that halfway position, but his helmet was now positioned so Demoman could see his eyes. A pair of deep brown eyes that were equally red and shiny and as wide as a deer in headlights.

 

“What the bloody Hell is wrong with ye?” Demoman shouted.

 

“What?” Soldier said.

 

“Ye sittin’ here tellin’ _lies_? Ye honestly think Medic is just tryin’ ta get back at ya for somethin’ that happened over a year ago?”

 

“Yes,” Soldier said dryly, nodding his head and bouncing his helmet before hanging it again, “I’m no soldier, not anymore. Medic’s right.”

 

“Jane, of course ye- ach, you think Medic really cared about bein’ called a Nazi a couple times. We all had our fair share of name-callin’-”

 

“It’s not just that!” Soldier exclaimed, batting away Demoman’s hands that were going to cusp his cheek like he was some dainty woman, “A real soldier isn’t some deaf, loony _moron_ who is pitied by the rest of his team! I fucked up my own hearing, and now I’m paying the price!” Soldier lowered his tense shoulders and moved back into his original position, but this time his legs were pulled up against his chest. “If I could hear, I’d be smarter, and I could show Medic I’m worth his time.”

 

“Jane, ye… yer not a moron, and yer not a moron ‘cause yer deaf,” Demoman said after scooting to kneel in front of Soldier.

 

“Oh yeah?” Soldier grunted, “How so?”

 

Demoman snapped his fingers to think. “Ye, uh... oh, yer the only bloke I know who can recite the alphabet backwards without stutterin’!”

 

“That’s just memorization,” Soldier retorted, “Not smarts.”

 

“Is that so? Well, who else in the base can take apart and put back together a shotgun in less than five minutes?”

 

“Uh… me?”

 

“You! An’ you know more military jargon and tactics like that back of your hand than the rest of us _combined_!”

 

A hint of a smile crept into Soldier’s expression, and he chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so,” he agreed.

 

Demoman grinned, touching Soldier’s forearm. “See, yer not stupid,” he assured, “An’ yer no less of a warrior ‘cause of some stupid hearin’ problem. I’m half bloody _blind_ , an’ I think I’m a pretty good shot, ye?”

 

“But Medic-” Soldier began to argue.

 

“Forget what that snobby nurse says! He’s just mad because he an’ his mate haven’t been bangin’ after their fight. Ye don’ hafta put up wit’ that abuse ‘cause they got problems.”

 

“I was… just trying to help the team,” Soldier said.

 

“Who told ye to put up wit’ _that_ to help the team?!” Demoman cried, “Engie?”

 

“You did,” Soldier replied. Demoman blinked and looked at the shower floor at the pool of water now finally draining after Soldier wasn’t sitting over the drain. The cognitive dissonance and sudden realization made his features soften. He focused his attention back to Soldier.

 

“I… Christ, it is my fault,” he admitted, “I’m no better than him. I should ‘ave never let that happen for that long, but I just… assumed ye could take it.”

 

“So, did I,” Soldier echoed.

 

Demoman paused to think about his words. “Is that why ye threw yer hearing aids?” he asked. Soldier nodded.

 

“I hate being sick and… powerless,” Soldier lamented, clenching his fists, “I… there’s something wrong with me and I can’t do _anything_ about it!”

 

“Jane, I jus’ said ye weren’t sick,” Demoman corrected, “Yer still jus’ as good as the rest of us, an’ no one can say otherwise. Not me, not Medic, not no one. Yer the best man I’ve ever fought with, an’ the best friend I ever had.”

 

Soldier didn’t respond at first, looking down at his sopping went boots and pants. His expression was hard to read, one that was just deep in thought. Water was still dripping off him and the floor was just as much so. Demoman knew his butt was going to be soaked when he got up, but that was the least of his concern right now.

 

Eventually, Soldier did look up, and he grinned. Demoman returned the look and got to his feet, holding out a hand to hoist his friend up. Soldier took the offer, the clothes sticking to his body sagging as he did so.

 

“Aye, let’s get ya dried off an’ crack open some beers, an’ we’ll see about Engie fixin’ yer aids tomorrow,” Demoman said, patting Soldier on the back. Soldier nodded and allowed Demoman to step out of the stall first.

 

“Tavish?” Soldier said as Demoman began to walk out. Demoman stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

 

“Ye?” Demoman asked.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For allowing me to know you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sniper and Scout chapter is next :D


	10. Mundy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanna ruin our friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to change the rating because of this chapter (and realizing how many times fuck has been said so far). This one's pretty gay, but then again, so is everything else in this fic. Sorry if that turns anyone off.

“How was that?” Scout asked breathlessly as he flopped down on the mattress, damp hair sticking to his equally sweaty face.

 

“Eh…,” Sniper said, pursing his lips in thought for a moment, “Six outta ten. Gettin’ good at this, arentcha?”

 

“’ey, I think I’m pretty good!” Scout sneered playfully, elbowing Sniper in the ribs, “An eight at least.”

 

“How ‘bout a seven and we’ll call it even?” Sniper suggested.

 

“Deal,” Scout said with a toothy grin.

 

Sniper gave a smirk back and sat up as much as he could in the campervan bed to slide out. Cracking his back and throwing the used condom in the trash can, he then slipped on a pair of boxers. He reached over the miniature kitchen space and cracked open at window. The air was cool- a crisp, clear November night where the mood stood tall and proud over the expansive desert.

 

“Whatcha doin’, Snipes?” Scout asked, too lazy to move his head to look at Sniper.

 

“Openin’ a window,” Sniper replied, “We stunk up the place again.”

 

“Why do you care ‘bout da weed smell?” Scout retorted, “Not like anyone else’s livin’ here, ‘sides you.”

 

“Nah, it’s the sweat,” Sniper said, scratching his armpit, “Well, mostly you. I smell fantastic- good ol’ Australian musk.”

 

“Yeah, whateva, weirdo,” Scout grumbled, pulling Sniper’s thin bed blanket more around himself. Sniper rolled his eyes and settled at the kitchen table, kicking his feet up against the opposite chair. Somehow the two hadn’t demolished the bag from earlier munchies, but Sniper was still hungry, so he began to chomp on those. Pushing over the bong of the table to reach the radio, he fiddled around with the thing until he found his station.

 

“Still high?” Scout asked from up in the loft, now flipping himself over to look down at Sniper.

 

“Don't think so,” Sniper shrugged, “Now I’m just ‘hungry. You?”

 

“Nah, but I ain’t dat hungry,” Scout replied, “Dat _Rollin’ Stones_?”

 

“Yeah,” Sniper called back, “Ya didn’t wanna cuddle, so I gotta keep myself occupied.”

 

“’Cause you’re all weird about bein’ touchy,” Scout said.

 

Sniper raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? That much?”

 

“Uh-huh. Whenever Demo or Solly or Pyro try to hug you or pat you on da back, you get all stiff an’ stuff. It’s weird.”

 

“But would you cuddle me if I wasn’t a weird old man who doesn’t like PDA?” Sniper asked between more chips.

 

“Nah, you don’t deserve my awesome cuddles- dat’s deserved for hot babes,” Scout retorted, “You ain’t exactly a hot babe. Plus, we’re not even datin’.”

 

“You mean it’s reserved when someone lets you top?” Sniper joked, snorting.

 

“N-No!” Scout snapped, face flushing as he pouted, “God, you’re so annoying. I give you da best ridin’ you’ve ever had an’ dis is da thanks I get?”

 

“Sure, whatever… five outta ten,” Sniper teased.

 

“Aw, what?” Scout said, now smiling again, “How’d my score go down already?”

 

“For bein’ a mouthy brat, that’s why,” Sniper said.

 

“Geez, you really are a weird old man,” Scout scoffed.

 

“’ey, I’m not even forty yet,” Sniper replied, “Bug off, roo.”

 

Scout chuckled and the two enjoy a few more minutes of silence before Sniper broke it again, now almost done with the chip bag. “You gonna shower tonight?” he asked nonchalantly.

 

“Nah, I’m gonna run tomorrow mornin’, so I’ll just shower after dat,” Scout responded, now turned to look up at the low ceiling of the bed.

 

“Yeah, I wasn’t gonna bother goin’ out either,” Sniper agreed. Now _The Who_ was playing, which caused Sniper to grimace and change the station. He eventually settled on a vintage jazz station playing dance music- something Spy would probably listen to. Still, he bobbed his head lightly to the beat.

 

“Snipes?” Scout said out of the blue, his tone more subdued now.

 

“Yeah?” Sniper asked.

 

“I uh… remembered when we were… ya know, an’ I bit your neck,” Scout said, toying with his words with his tongue.

 

“Look, I told you it was fine,” Sniper replied, now self-conscious about his bruised neck again as he rubbed the back of it, “’onest mistake. Next week you’ll be able to bite it all ya want.”

 

“’t’s not that,” Scout continued, “Well, okay, that was a fuckin’ stupid mistake. What I mean to say is… I dunno what it is, but you acted kinda weird tonight. Is it about Heavy almost killin’ ya? You don’t gotta tell me or nothin’, just wanna know.”

 

Sniper sighed. “Guess you’re not in the sugar coatin’ mood, are ya?” he muttered, “I mean… I guess. Maybe? I mean, I really dunno ‘ow to feel ‘bout all this. Pretty sure it’s natural to feel weird after you ‘ave a near-death kinda thing. We… we die all the time, but this is… different, ya know?”

 

“Cause you coulda died?” Scout asked, “Like, _died_ died?”

 

“Yeah,” Sniper confirmed, licking the salty crumbs of his fingers, “Guess you could say that.”

 

Scout dragged his hands across his face. “God, dis is all Heavy an’ Medic’s fault!” he groused, “Glad we aren’t anyt’ing like them. Their drama is gonna get one of us killed soon, and it’s gonna be one of us- da weaker ones. I mean, look at Soldier! Never knew anyone would be able to break his spirit dat quickly with just… just _words_.”

 

“On the sugar-coating scale, Medic’s easily sour; always knows where to hit the sensitive spots,” Sniper agreed.

 

“Is dat how it is when you get old?” Scout asked, “Relationships are still as complicated as when you’re a kid?”

 

“Suppose some things never change,” Sniper said, “Though ‘onestly, I think they’re gonna cool down soon. Not just cause they’re old, it’s more like they’re both prideful, wantin’ to be the bigger person. Now they’re playin’ chicken to wait for the other to crack. But they’re gonna crack soon.”

 

Scout paused for a moment, scratching his toned stomach. “You think they’re gonna… gonna actually break up?” he wondered, “Feels like they’ve always been together, even before we were all hired.”

 

“They’ll do whatever makes ‘em ‘appy,” Sniper said, drumming his fingers on the table, “Even if that means they gotta go their separate ways.”

 

“Just wish we knew _why_ they were fightin’ in the first place,” Scout said, “They’ve been together too long to let dumb arguments split them up, right? Always thought they’d be above silly stuff like dat. Why can’t they just, ya know… make up?”

 

“That’s cause you’re young,” Sniper replied, “Longer you know someone, the more you give a part of yourself to ‘em- secrets, pasts, feelin’s, an’ you trust your partner to keep ‘em safe ‘cause you trust ‘em. Sometimes that stuff comes up without meanin’ to, an’ you can really ‘urt each other by accident… or make you realize it was never meant to be.” Scout was now sitting up propped on his elbow, blinking at Sniper. It took Sniper a few seconds to realize this, and he stared right back. “Wot? ‘t’s true.”

 

“You sure you still ain’t high?” Scout asked, “Cause you gettin’ all deep makes you sound like Hardhat.”

 

Sniper rolled his eyes and gave Scout the finger. “You’re a brat, y’know that?” he hissed, but with a smile on his face.

 

“Da one and only,” Scout said pridefully.

 

Sniper got up to wash out his bong and wipe off the table of the many, many crumbs he and Scout left. He took a leak outside, brushed his teeth in the kitchen sink, and turned off the radio when Scout was already turned back over to go to sleep. The last thing Sniper did before crawling into bed was flip off the lights, taking a moment to admire the pale moonlight pouring in. He scooted in next to Scout, but had his back to the younger man, as usual.

 

“Snipes?” Scout whispered after a while of Sniper trying to fall asleep.

 

“Hmm?” Sniper groaned.

 

“I… I like what we got goin’ on,” Scout said, “Jus’ two friends, smokin’ weed and sometimes fuckin’. No relationship drama like Heavy ‘n Medic do.”

 

“Yeah?” Sniper responded, “I like it too. Also… you’re an eight. Gonna make a lucky girl a real ‘appy wife someday.”

 

Scout glanced over his shoulder when he was sure Sniper wasn’t looking, glad the darkness hid his flushed cheeks. “Yeah, and… Snipes, I, um, I… I’ll try not to wake you went I get up in da mornin’.”

 

“Mmmm g’night,” Sniper mumbled shortly before he began to snore.

 

Scout nodded and stared at the low ceiling once more, face hot. _‘Just two friends… yeah,’_ he thought, before slipping back into sleep.

 

\----

 

Every merc on the base knew very well that bi-weekly Sunday ceasefires were a gift. For some, it meant more time for hobbies, or going into town for the day to get completely wasted. But for everyone, expect Soldier, it meant time to catch up on missed sleep. Everyone knew that.

 

Well, for all except somebody, apparently. Scout awoke to a knocking on the campervan too, and he rubbed his eyes before moving to jostle Sniper awake.

 

“Hey man, wake up,” he said. Sniper woke up slowly, blinking the crust out of his eyes. He muttered something incoherent, but jumped at the door knocking once more, jolting up and banging his forehead with a thud. He held it and hissed, rubbing the spot that would probably have a bruise later.

 

“Bugger, bugger!” Sniper cursed, then glaring at the front door that was still being hit, “Alright, alright, I’m comin’!” He hopped out of bed and motioned to Scout. “C’mon, put some pants on, no one wants to see your junk.”

 

Scout groaned, but obliged. He fumbled around on the campervan floor for his underwear before Sniper flicked on the lights and had on his own pants by now. The taller man looked through the peephole and made a confused grimace but opening the door anyways to a familiar masked Frenchman.

 

“Rise and shine, Bushman,” Spy greeted with a sly smile, then his face falling momentarily when he saw Scout from behind, “Scout.”

 

“Hey, frog,” Scout grumbled.

 

“’Good mornin’’?” Sniper snapped, “It’s six in tha bloody mornin’ on a Sunday! This better be fuckin’ good.”

 

“Please, spare me your anger,” Spy said calmly, putting a hand up, “I am simply a messenger.”

 

“Messenger?” Sniper said, cocking an eyebrow, “Yeah, for who?”

 

“Engineer ‘as asked me to assemble the team for a meeting,” Spy explained, “It should take no more than thirty minutes at most. I suggest you amuse 'im for that long, then you can get your precious sleep.”

 

Sniper and Scout exchanged glances, but Sniper sighed before shutting the door in Spy’s face. “C’mon, kid, let’s go see what Truckie wants.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed by now, the chapter title and general theme is based off the song "Jenny" by the Studio Killers. Good song ngl
> 
>  
> 
> **Also if you wanna help support my writing,[you can buy me a coffee to help me out financially](https://ko-fi.com/N4N77DY2) :D**


	11. The Price of Meddlin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Engineer swallows his pride and is finally honest with his team. Spy is also being not so much of a prick for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Special thank you to Blake and Quinntoph for donating to[my ko-fi](http://ko-fi.com/drawingcrows) to help support my writing!! :D ******
> 
> I'll try to write when I can, but lately school has been rough, so I've been busy a lot of the time. Sorry ;v;

“This better be worth interruptin’ mah Sunday snooze,” Demoman griped with his arms folded across his chest when Sniper and Scout walked in. Soldier was sitting beside Demoman at the meeting table, though for once was missing his helmet, and was watching the room intently. Pyro sat across from the pair, swinging their feet merrily and, as usual, fully suited.

 

“Frog call you ‘ere too?” Sniper asked Demoman.

 

“Aye,” Demoman replied, “Cheeky bastard got into me room, jostled me awake. Bloke’s lucky I didn’t punch ‘im right in that big nose.”

 

“That’s because you sleep like a dead man when you’re hungover,” Soldier replied dryly.

 

“Yeah, you’re a pain when you pass out in da rec room and we gotta haul your drunk ass to bed!” Scout added.

 

“Mornin’ to ye too, Scout,” Demoman said with a hint of bitterness, “But I ain’t gunnae deny that.”

 

“Lovebirds comin’ today?” Sniper asked as he pulled out a chair for himself and sat down, rubbing his tired eyes.

 

“We were instructed not to tell Heavy or Medic about this meeting,” Soldier replied.

 

“Well, _you_ were,” Demoman said, “Speakin’ o’ ‘em, where’s Engie an’ Spy? They wanna ‘ave this stupid meetin’, they should at least bother ta show up.”

 

“If they ain’t here in five minutes, I’m goin’ back to bed,” Scout grumbled, kicking his feet up on the table with a pout etched into his boyish features.

 

“Me too,” Sniper replied.

 

Luckily for the five of them, they didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes before the two men in question entered the room. Engineer was in his usual overalls but with his one casual shirt underneath- a garish collared shirt with a tacky Hawaiian pattern all over it. Spy walked in behind him, dressed in his usual suit and balaclava to be as fancy as he possibly could, even when he should have been relaxing today. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to his team mates and sat beside Pyro, closer to the head of the table.

 

“Alright, I’ll make this quick, so we can all get back to our routines,” Engineer said as he made his way to the head of the table, but not sitting down. He wrung his hands together and his eyes kept darting back and forth between his audience, who frankly were not happy to see him. He cleared his throat once more. “I’m sure you all know why you’re here-”

 

“Get to tha point!” Demoman called out, “We all know ye jus’ want us to do another scheme!”

 

Engineer jumped at the sudden reprimand and swallowed thickly. “You’re right,” he said, quieter this time, “I called y’all cause… I wanna apologize.” The men at the table staring daggers into Engineer exchanged glances with raised eyebrows.

 

“Well,” Sniper said, “This is new. ‘m listenin’.”

 

“Past week’s been rough for all of us, with Heavy an’ Medic fightin’ an’ all. I’ve been thinkin’ all night, after Demo gave me a reality check, and I’ve come to realize that in me tryin’ to intervene in their business, I’ve done a disservice to y’all. I was willin’ to sacrifice y’all’s mental and physical wellbein’s to meddle in somethin’ I shouldn’ be meddlin’ in. If y’all wanna be mad or hate me, I get it. Jus’ wanted to say I’m sorry.”

 

No response came from the table, aside from Spy blowing a puff of smoke out of his mouth.

 

“So, I wanted to make it up,” Engineer continued, “Tonight, me an’ Spy are gonna be puttin’ together a barbecue outside. Gonna be leavin’ in a few to go get some good cuts and other sides, an’ I even brought out my latest grill model to cook on-”

 

“Wait, wait,” Scout interrupted, putting a hand up, “This ain’t another plan of your’s, is it? ‘Cause if it is, I’m pretty sure I speak for all of us when I say I don’t want any part of it.”

 

“N-No, no, it’s not,” Engineer assured, “Y’all don’t gotta do anythin’ aside from showin’ up… i-if you want. I left notes for the other two to put aside their differences an’ enjoy. Just wanna try an’ make up for what I did an’ for everybody to have a good time.”

 

“So, if ya don’t want this to be some sorta scheme,” Sniper inquired hesitantly, scratching his morning stubble, “Why not tell Heavy and Medic to come to this bloody meetin’ like the rest of us?”

 

“Well, I…” Engineer admitted, “I didn’t wanna talk ‘bout ‘em and their relationship to their faces. It ain’t any of my business, so I’m gonna try an’ talk to ‘em one-on-one if this all goes well. So, what do y’all say?”

 

The room went silent as each man retreated to his own thoughts, pondering and pondering what to say and silently debating who should say something first. Engineer became more worried with each passing second of no response and his mouth suddenly felt extremely dry. He peeked over at Spy for answers, who shrugged lightly and watched the other men as well.

 

Soldier stood up from his seat suddenly, though without a word or a fist on the table like anyone expected him to. With all eyes on him, he walked over to Engineer and stood over the smaller man with his fists at his side.

 

“I agree,” he said.

 

A smile found its way to Engineer’s face. “Thanks Soldier,” he began, “It mean a-”

 

“Under one condition,” Soldier continued, pointing a finger in his face.

 

“W-What’s that?” Engineer asked guardedly, putting his hands up in case he needed defense. Without breaking eye contact, Soldier slammed his open hand down on the table, causing the participants in the room to jump in their seats, some more than others. Engineer especially cowered after having a vision of a fist connecting with his jaw in two seconds.

 

Instead, Soldier lifted his hand from the table, revealing the shards of hearing aids- ones of Engineer’s own design. Engineer looked at the broken equipment, then back at Soldier with his brow furrowed.

 

“Only if you fix these,” Soldier grunted, staring at the floor to try and hide the obvious flushing of his face.

 

“I… _may_ ‘ave stepped on ‘em,” Demoman added quietly, “That means we’re even, ya know. If Jane’s goin’, count me in too.”

 

“I could go for some free grub,” Sniper agreed with a grin.

 

“Might as well,” Scout said, folding his arms with a smirk, “Hate to have _all that food_ go to waste.”

 

“Mmmph!” Pyro called, raising a fist in triumph.

 

The pit that Heavy and Medic’s ordeal formed in Engineer’s stomach patched up a bit more for the first time this week. Engineer smiled up at Soldier, who returned a grin back down. This moment of understanding was interrupted by Spy, who stood up to put a hand on Engineer’s shoulders.

 

“Alright, we are all friends once more,” he said, “Now, let us be on our way, laboreur. We ‘ave much to prepare for, and I would rather be done with this earlier, so I can ‘ave the afternoon for myself.”

 

“Ah, right,” Engineer said, “Soldier, why dontcha hold onto this for now? I’ll look at it when the food’s cookin’ later.”

 

“Affirmative!” Soldier barked, saluting down to Engineer as Engineer and Spy left the room.

 

“I’ll admit,” Spy said once they were out of ear shot of the other team mates and outside the base to the parking lot, “That went better than I expected. You seem to be good at those inspirational speeches.”

 

“Thanks, mister,” Engineer said, fishing his keys out of his pocket, “Hope you don’t mind shotgun for both ways to downtown Teufort.”

 

Spy snorted and shook his head. “No, no, my friend,” he said, “You are doing me a service, so I will do one for you. That low-life town does not know what good meat if it crept up in the night and stabbed them in the back.”

 

“But I buy from there whenever I do this stuff,” Engineer retorted, “Y’all seem to like it fine- I ain’t never hear complainin’.”

 

“Laboreur, do you want to fix this team or no?”

 

Engineer stopped twirling his truck keys. “I… yes?”

 

“Then good cuts are where you start,” Spy said, “Luckily, I ‘appen to know where to get the best meat. I will drive, though you are paying for gas.”

 

“…Deal.”


	12. The Best Apologies Start With Quality Cuts of Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reckon, Engineer didn't exactly sign up for this. Spy isn't exactly the best person to have a road trip with. But it's for a good cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features art by @wireskull on tumblr! Go check out their work it's really cool :D

After passing by Teufort, Engineer wasn’t concerned. Spy said he knew a place and Engineer trusted the man, so it was probably in the next city over in their direction. So, he wasn’t worried five minutes after passing Teufort, or ten minutes after passing Teufort, or even twenty minutes after passing Teufort. The road they traveled was a long strip of a two-lane road stretching across the barren desert in Spy’s expensive sports car, kicking up dust as they drove.

 

They passed by tumble weeds and scraggly shrubbery that covered the desolate landscape. They passed plateaus and mountains that show off their brilliant orange rock in the light of the morning sun. They passed one other car- a large pickup truck that had a bright green logo for _“Lady Lucille’s Lamps”_ plastered on the side. Engineer mindlessly watched the scenery roll by as he basked in the silence of Spy’s car.

 

At the thirty-minute mark after passing Teufort, they reached a fork in the road, with their current path taking them to the city that they were probably going to go down. However, Spy did not take the city path, and suddenly turned the car to go down the path of the unknown. Now Engineer was a bit more concerned but kept quiet anyways. Spy remained quiet himself, just keeping the window cracked as he puffed on his cigarette periodically.

 

It wasn’t until nearly an hour after passing Teufort when they reached grassy plains with rolling hills for miles when Engineer began to genuinely worry about just where Spy was taking him. If Spy was planning to take him in the middle of no where and shoot him on his knees, he was succeeding. Engineer cleared his throat.

 

“Uh... Spy?” Engineer asked, for the first time in an hour, “Where… where we goin’, exactly?”

 

“I know a quality farm just up ahead,” Spy replied, “I get all my steaks from there this time of year.”

 

“Friends of yours?” Engineer said.

 

“I don’t _befriend_ the locals of this area,” Spy retorted, “I make business acquaintances.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds like you, all right,” Engineer chuckled as Spy turned down another road.

 

“They’re a family-run farm that sells meat to their acquaintances. I discovered them during our first ceasefire when I was getting sick of the rest of you heathens, and we formed a bond.”

 

“How’d you do that?” Engineer inquired with a raised eyebrow.

 

“We’re ‘ere,” Spy said as he pulled his car to a stop on a dirt road. Ahead of them lied an old farmhouse at the top of a hill that looked like it could really use a new coat of paint and an in-tact roof. A much larger red barn sat behind the house, shadowing them from the rising sun. A couple dozen cows and at least three goats grazed in the surrounding fields, paying no mind to the fancy sports car.

 

“Heh, reminds me of home,” Engineer sighed as he peered through the tinted windows, “So, you takin’ of your mask, or-”

 

Unbeknownst to Engineer, Spy already answered that question by a completely different person now sitting in the driver’s seat with a puff of smoke surrounding him. He was a taller, tanned man with a clean face and combed back blond hair. He wore a more casual, much less pinstriped suit with no balaclava to be seen and was now stubbing out his cigarette in the car’s ash trash.

 

“My, my,” Engineer said with awe, “So _that’s_ what you look like under there?

 

“Please,” the new Spy hissed, “I wouldn’t be caught _dead_ with this ‘enious ‘air color and fake tan, but this is who they know me as.”

 

 

“Suits you,” Engineer teased.

 

“Watch it, laboreur,” Spy warned, “Now, we will go out there, and I will do the talking. You keep your mouth shut and say _nothing_ of our relationship or our jobs. My name is Marty Conagher, and you are my friend, Dell Smith, and we’re here to get meat for an early company Smissmas party.”

 

“Wait, wait, you’ve been usin’ my name?” Engineer snapped, “Why can’t I use my own?”

 

Spy shrugged and fixed his hair in the mirror. “It sounds local,” he admitted, “I never counted on bringing you. Hmmm… perhaps it would be best to leave you in the car; we do not look like were belong together.”

 

“Like some child?” Engineer griped, “Why’d you even bring me if I ain’t even gonna be seen?”

 

“We ‘ave other stops,” Spy said, “Oh, _merde_ , no time to discuss.” He scowled when he noticed that a young child walking up to their car suddenly ran inside, calling for his parents. Spy coughed and unbuckled himself, giving one last look in the mirror.

 

“Can’t they see me?” Engineer asked.

 

“No,” Spy said, now with a smooth Southern drawl for a voice, “These windows are completely tinted. You know this. Now, be quiet.”

 

Engineer did his best not to burst out laughing at Spy’s new face and voice and kept himself scrunched down in his seat as Spy got out the car. Halfway from walking up to the house, a large, burly man and a wife whose wrists were thse size of Spy’s neck came out of the house to meet him.

 

Then, in the biggest surprise of Engineer’s life in since he found Pyro’s stash of kerosene behind the rec room sofa, Spy laughed and talked with them like they were the best of friends.

 

\----

 

After what felt like an eternity, Spy and his “acquaintances” loaded the last on the meat into the cooler in the trunk. Several racks of pork ribs, sausage links, and steaks for each merc was as much as Spy could get, and the two would stop at the grocery store in Teufort for the other dishes and supplies. Spy said his good-byes and got into the car before the people saw Engineer sitting in the front seat.

 

When he was a formidable distance away from driving down the long, long driveway, Spy cracked open the window to let his disguise fizzle out. Engineer coughed, swatting away the obnoxious amount of smoke that, for once, wasn’t coming out of Spy’s cigarette.

 

“ _Excuse-moi_ ,” Spy said, now in his normal voice and pinstripe suit.

 

“What was that?” Engineer asked, craning his neck back to glance at the house growing smaller and smaller as they sped down the road.

 

“Business as usual,” Spy replied.

 

“Thought you said y’all were just acquaintances,” Engineer laughed, “I never knew you could be that friendly with, well, _anyone_.”

 

“Changing personalities is part of my career,” Spy explained matter-of-factly, “Even if I’d rather do anything than be near-strangled by that pig and ‘er greasy ‘usband in physical contact. It’s for a good cause, no?”

 

“Guess you got a point,” Engineer said. He sat awkwardly in the passenger’s seat for a while, just watching the plains disappear and turn back into the bare desert expanse before speaking again. “You, uh, got any plans for Smissmas?”

 

Spy pondered with the question for a while as he lit a new cigarette. “None in particular,” he replied dryly, “And none of your business.”

 

“Geez, sorry, fella,” Engineer said, “So… that means you’re gonna see that lady you’re always talkin’ to on the phone?”

 

Spy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened and he nearly bit his cigarette in two. “I… I do not know what you are talking about,” he lied, but the flushing of the skin around his eye hole said all.

 

“C’mon, nothin’ to be ashamed of,” Engineer offered, “I’ve seen you slink off to the pay phone outside at night. Come back a blushin’ mess. Must really be somethin’ to get _you_ to show emotions like _that_.”

 

“Oh, yes, she’s… wonderful,” Spy said dreamily, “She keeps me sane in this loony ‘ouse of a base. The most beautiful flower I’ve ever laid my eyes on- _ma petite chour fleur_.”

 

“Sounds like y’all are gonna have a lot of lovin’ time next month,” Engineer commented.

 

“But… I cannot see ‘er during the ‘olidays. That is my time to travel the world, or work on my… extracurricular activities.”

 

“Why not?” Engineer asked with a tilt of his head, “Seem to love her a whole lot. You… you ain’t a homewrecker, are you?”

 

“What? No, no. Not with ‘er. There are some… _complications_ that prevent me from being seen by ‘er family. Breaking years-long facades could shatter what I ‘ave, and I cannot bear to lose that. I ‘ave learned to live with this fact- we both ‘ave- and I leave no quarrels with her, just…” Spy trailed off and he tapped his cigarette into the ash tray before going silent, focusing his attention on the stretching road.

 

“Just what?” Engineer said.

 

“’eavy and Medic should cherish the time they spend together,” Spy said, obviously ignoring Engineer’s question or what he was just saying, “They never know when it will be gone. But, I will not be surprised if they leave one another- perhaps they grew sick of each other finally. I’ll admit, though, it is amusing seeing them go at war with each other and act like children.”

 

“’cause you ain’t getting’ the butt of the abuse,” Engineer muttered, rolling his eyes.

 

Spy hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose that is true,” he admitted.

 

A pause sedated the two for several minutes as they digested their conversation. “Why you bein’ so nice to me?” Engineer asked suddenly, “Didn’t ever think we were friends, and I’m only just takin’ your laundry duty.”

 

Spy glanced over at Engineer. “I ‘ave found that I dislike you company less than some of the others in our profession,” he said. Engineer didn’t know what to say to that, so he turned forward and watched the road ahead.

 

The two didn’t talk any more for the rest of the way to Teufort. Spy’s words echoed in Engineer’s mind; about Heavy and Medic, and about his mysterious lover. Did Spy just confide in Engineer? Spy, the mysterious lone wolf who was so elusive that no one even knew what his face looked like, decided to disclose actual human emotions to another person. When did Spy decide that he even liked Engineer beyond being comrades?

 

A warmth filled Engineer’s chest, and he smiled to himself. He never thought he’d live to see the day where he saw a genuine side of Spy that _enjoyed_ being in the company of Engineer. Wait till he told his cousins about this during Smissmas; the prince was tamed by the pauper!


	13. Peace, Then War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, things can only go well for so long, don't they? At least everyone's together for once- that's some kind of milestone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for kinda vanishing for a bit. I got very sick and was dealing w/ personal stuff, alongside finals approaching, so I couldn't do much writing ;;

For the rest of the day up until the time the Sun was beginning to go down over the badlands of the New Mexico desert, Engineer was working. Cooking for a crowd of eight other hungry men was nothing compared to his family reunions, but it was still challenging nonetheless. His little nephews would eat only a fraction in a day of what Heavy and Soldier ate for one meal.

 

Luckily, Pyro graciously volunteered to help with the preparation and coordination of the many dishes they were cooking at once. They were a lifesaver, even if Engineer reminded them multiple times to moderate the spices they were so eager to put in, for the sake of their older comrades who were more susceptible to heart burn.

 

Spy came in and out of the kitchen periodically to watch the two work at it. He would smoke and sit at the kitchen table, but was never in the way, like a watchful and quiet cat. Engineer didn’t blame him, though- after Spy spent the morning driving Engineer halfway across the state then loading up his expensive sports car with groceries from the Teufort market, he contributed more than enough. He slipped into his smoking room for the rest of the afternoon when Engineer covered the pan of sweet potato casserole with foil to sit on the counter.

 

Engineer wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed. “Alright, that should do it,” he said, then turning to Pyro, “Now, when this here clock on the wall says six-fifteen, put the beans in the oven. Sweet potato’s will go in ten minutes after.”

 

Pyro saluted and nodded furiously. “Ysssh shyrr!” they replied.

 

Engineer took the meat out of the freezer and rolled it outside in a cooler, trusting that Pyro can be left on their own for this. The New Mexican Sun greeted him harshly, but thankfully the grill was underneath a shaded area of the outside of the base, eliminating the threat of sunburn. It had been months since anyone even touched this thing, and Engineer had checked the old thing last night to make sure it was still able to spit a flame.

 

As soon as Engineer rolled up his sleeves and set the ribs on, he was stopped by Soldier grabbing his arm.

 

“Engie,” Soldier said, “I request that you fix… y’know, at once!”

 

Engineer blinked, then chuckled. “Sure thing,” he replied, “Seems like you only cracked the shell of the one that wasn’t stepped on. Lucky for you, I was workin’ on a new model durin’ my spare time, so I got all the parts I can put into a copy of your current model. Now, let’s see how fast I can put this thing together ‘tween flippin’ these ribs.”

 

\----

 

“Alright, just a few more adjustments… and, done!” Engineer exclaimed, wiping the sweat off his brow.

 

He held his handiwork up in pride and passed them over to Soldier, who was sitting next to him on the picnic bench. Soldier was quick to snatch the tiny machines up and put them in- a bit too eager that he usually was about wearing the things. Once they were secure, Engineer snapped his fingers next to each ear several times to test. Soldier’s face lit up and he sat bolt upright to his feet.

 

“You’ve done a great service to me, comrade,” Soldier exclaimed, then running off to meet Demoman, Scout, and Sniper, who were playing some kind of game involving a football over in the open desert.

 

“Just be careful with ‘em!” Engineer called, “An’ don’t gettem wet, either! That’s for my next model.”

 

Seeing as Soldier probably heard him now, Engineer got up as well. Rolling his head to get out the kink in his neck and cracking his knuckles, he went right back to the grill. The sun was beginning to set over the landscape, painting the desert pink and orange and hushing the world.

 

Engineer couldn’t help but smile to himself. Soon, Pyro would be coming out with the side dishes, and they could all enjoy something as a team for the first time all week. Things were going to go well, even if Heavy and Medic don’t end up coming out.

 

“Is ribs?” a voice randomly called behind Engineer, causing the small man to jump and turn around. He came face-to-face with Heavy, who was peering over his shoulder silently. Lord knows how long the giant had been standing there without saying a word.

 

“O-Oh, Heavy!” Engineer stammered, “Don’t sneak up on me like that. I was near ready to whack you with this here spatula.”

 

“You should listen better,” Heavy said countered with a cold sober expression, “Could have been Spy. You would be dead.”

 

Engineer chuckled. “Guess you’re right ‘bout that,” he admitted, “Yes, these are ribs. Got some steaks and sausage- I know who’s gonna be happy ‘bout those lil’ guys.”

 

Heavy scoffed. “Right,” he grumbled. He made his way over to the picnic table and sat down by himself, watching Engineer cook. His expression was hard to read; he didn’t look angry, but he surely wasn’t in the mood for merriment either. Engineer shrugged.

 

“So, what brought you out tonight?” Engineer asked nonchalantly, choosing his words carefully, “Haven’t seen you all week. Would’ve saved you some if you didn’t come.”

 

“I get note slipped under door,” Heavy replied, “Hear about food, so I come. Needed to get fresh air aside from fighting, too.”

 

“That’s good…” Engineer said.

 

“This for _whole_ team?” Heavy asked suspiciously.

 

Engineer paused and took a deep breath. “Yes,” he responded, not turning around, “Kinda apologizin’ for some stuff I’ve caused, and we could all use a breather. Look, I dunno what happened between you and the doc, but-”

 

“Does not concern you,” Heavy snapped, but in the same flat tone of voice which made it even more intimidating, “You try to get in Heavy’s business yet again?”

 

“N-No, no, I’m not! This is for everybody, not just you two.”

 

“Medic will not come. Will stay inside with birds and sulk. Even if I do talk to Medic, will not listen to me or anyone. Not until he burns out anger.”

 

“Vhat vas zhat about Medic?” Medic asked, walking up behind Heavy like he suddenly materialized at the mention of his name.

 

Heavy and Engineer both spun around, blush spreading across the tips of their ears. Medic was carrying a tray of one of Engineer’s dishes with oven mitts on, and in the cleanest clothes anyone has seen him wear all week. Pyro came out behind him, carrying 3 trays stacked on top of each other in their arms.

 

“I saw zhis _dummkopf_ trying to balance one of zhese on zheir head,” Medic explained, “Plus, I heard zhere vould be sausages. Haven’t had zhose in years- never any time after my contract started to go home, and zhe vones at Teufort’s market- oh, _es ist Mist_.”

 

“Doc, you… y’know what, I’m glad you’re here,” Engineer beamed, “I dunno how these are gonna compare to the stuff y’all got in Germany. These ain’t exactly the ritz.”

 

“I’ll be zhe judge of zhat,” Medic decided, smirking and setting the tray down on the picnic table along with Pyro, “Hello, Mikhail. Fancy seeing you here. Zhen again, I’m not surprised zhat you vere drawn out by food.”

 

Heavy turned back around in his seat and stared very intently at the wood on the table. “ _также_ ,” he muttered, “I thought doctor would be sitting inside with birds again.”

 

“Hey, wouldja look at that!” Engineer interrupted before Medic could open his mouth to snap, “Ribs are done! Why don’t y’all help me out and take the foil off those trays?” Heavy and Medic looked at each other, then furiously away as the did as they were told. Looking off in the distance, Engineer saw Soldier holding Scout in a chokehold while Sniper and Demoman laughed at them. “You four! Stop bein’ idiots and come on over! Chow’s ready!”

 

\----

While no one really doubted it, the meal was simply delicious, even better than Engineer’s usual cooking. There was a point in the meal where no one was talking so they could savor every bite of their food. They started off with the ribs and sides, then the sausages came off the grill soon after. Even Pyro’s food turned out to be much less spicy than usual, which was a relief for some of the older members.

 

There were four mercenaries at each of the two wooden bench tables, but the atmospheres felt like two different worlds. One table consisted of the group playing football earlier, loudly talking and laughing. Spy appeared at the last second from his evening smoking break to sit at the table where Scout wasn’t at, which happened to be at the table with Heavy, Medic, and Pyro. Very little talking occurred there, and the only sounds were the sounds of cutlery clinking and chewing. Engineer ate while he stood at the grill to prepare the steaks.

 

Strangely enough, Heavy and Medic sat next to each other- whether it was due to them being the last seats or a subconscious lull to be together was unknown. The two could hardly look at each other, like they were intent on doing everything but look at one another. The only thing for certain was that both looked like they were using all their strength to keep it together.

 

Eventually, Spy got up from the table to bother Engineer at the grill, and Pyro got called over by the others to join their mock football game, which they skipped over to. Then it was just Heavy and Medic sitting alone at the table, still next to one another. Medic put his fork down and tapped his fingers on the wood.

 

“So,” Medic muttered, “You zhink zhis is all my fault, right? Zhat I’m being ‘irrational,’ and zhe only one doing so? I heard vhat you said to Dell.”

 

Heavy stopped eating. “ _да_ ,” he replied firmly, “And you come out here to cause more problems and make _me_ look bad, too.”

 

“ _Zhat_ is not true!” Medic huffed, “Am I not allowed to try to enjoy myself for _vonce_?”

 

“I never say that,” Heavy retorted, “I know you. You want to be angry just to be angry. Like you do to Soldier, and now you want to do to me.”

 

“Zhat vas… different. You know how he is… he doesn’t understand vhat being a team is.”

 

“He is deaf and sick in head. You are too hard on him.”

 

“Zhen how about Herr Sniper, hm? You veren’t hard on him?”

 

“It… was honest mistake.”

 

“ _Ja_ , right.”

 

“At least I apologized. Doktor doesn’t think of other’s feelings.”

 

Medic’s left eye twitched. “Y-You, you… zhere you go again!” Medic hissed, “Taking zhe moral high ground und making me zhe evil doctor who hurt your feelings. Oh, everyzhing’s all my fault, like it is alvays! You could never do no harm- big, strong Mikhail who pretends to be above others.”

 

Heavy shrugged. “Is not high ground when you are the one who owes apologies, doktor,” he admitted. Heavy cut into his sausage to take another bite, ignoring the fuming Medic next to him. Medic clenched his teeth and balled his fists as he stood up from his seat.

 

There are things in life that are just a bad idea for nearly any situation. If a hunter goes out to look for foxes or deer, and they stumble upon a sleeping bear in a cave, there’s no good reason to try to rouse it. One, because the bear is minding its own business, and two, the hunter would most certainly lose that confrontation. That’s the logical thing for a sane man to do. Medic, however, was not this sane, logical man, at least the latter half not now.

 

He raised his hand high and slapped Heavy clean across the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> es ist Mist = It is crap
> 
> также = Likewise
> 
> Next chapter will focus on Heavy and Medic. Something I've been waiting a while to write :D


	14. Papers, Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's go back. Back to when this all started. When the first shots were fired to signal the start of the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Changed the chapter title to make it more fitting and not so goofy

**RED Base, Badlands, NM**

**One week ago**

 

“Misha, could you pass me those papers, _bitte_?”

 

Heavy looked up from his dog-eared copy of _The Brothers Karamazov_ that he read from his spot lying on one of the crude hospital beds. While not a preferable spot, Heavy tolerated it if it meant spending time with Medic to end a long day of blowing men to bits. Heavy reading a book and Medic doing his paperwork, both in complete silence, was one of their favorite couple’s activity; just being in each other’s presence was enough. Still, it was a surprise to hear Medic suddenly speak for the first time in an hour.

 

“Which ones?” Heavy asked, setting down his book and swinging his feet over the side of the bed.

 

Medic pointed it a vague direction as he continued to be focused on the report for his new prescription of pain killers for the team he was writing. “Over zhere,” he muttered, “Zhe, eh… Demo’s last liver. On zhe counter near zhe medicine cabinet.”

 

Heavy sighed and hopped down from the bed, setting his reading glasses aside too. He then walking over to the aforementioned counter top near the medicine cabinet and searched for the papers. Medic was not a man known for organization, despite what his crisp, pristine battle outfit and combed hair led on. Random papers, opened and bookmarked medical textbooks, dishes of birdseed, and various vials and bottles of questionable origins littered the counter tops. When Heavy reached his short destination, several of Medic’s doves were sitting on top of the paper he needed.

 

“Shoo, shoo, little birds,” Heavy whispered, waving his hands towards the creatures to scare them off. As he went to grab the documents, an idea popped up in Heavy’s mind, and he retracted his hand. Instead, he dug in his pocket and drew out two small slips of paper. He looked at the papers, then at Medic, who still had his nose buried in his work, then back at the papers with a smile.

 

“Here you are,” Heavy said as he set the new papers on Medic’s desk.

 

“Ah, zhank you,” Medic muttered, glancing at them out of the corner of his eye. He then took a double take to make sure he was looking correctly, and picked them up, holding them up at Heavy with a furrowed brow. “Vait, zhis isn’t vhat I asked for. Go get zhe report. It should have a large title reading, ‘ _Liver Transplant for Degroot, Tavish’_.”

 

Heavy chuckled. “Read it, doktor,” he urged.

 

“Ach, fine,” Medic groaned, rubbing his eyes before adjusting his glasses to get a better look, “Let’s see… _Sheremetyevo International._ Oh! You already got your plane tickets for Smissmas, I see. I told you get zhem ahed of time vould be best, didn’t I, _liebe_?”

 

“Yes, doktor was right,” Heavy agreed, “But look, there is two tickets.”

 

“Ah, you’re going to bring Sasha on zhe plane?” Medic said, cackling and trying to hand the tickets back up to his lover, “Oh, I don’t know if zhey vill let you bring zhat. But zhe enthusiasm is nice, ja?”

 

Heavy laughed and shook his head. “No, no, is for you, Ludwig,” he revealed.

 

Medic’s shoulders slumped, and his smile faded. “Vhat?” he said.

 

“Doktor is going to come home with me for holidays!” Heavy said, obviously much more eager over the idea than Medic, “Will be able to meet mama and sisters. Have been very excited to tell you!”

 

Medic’s mouth formed a thin line. He took a moment to mull over the question, nodding to himself and glancing between the tickets and Heavy. In the silence, Archimedes flew over to sit on his shoulder, cooing softly at his stunned master.

 

“Oh, zhat’s…” Medic said, turning back to his paperwork, “ _Nein_ , I can’t leave my vork for so long. Zhere is alvays much to be done during zhe holidays. I’d like to get a head start.”

 

A rumble of a chuckle bubbled from Heavy’s throat, and he walked around the desk to peck Medic on the cheek. “Is no problem,” he guaranteed, “Old woman never gives work on Smissmas. Heavy can help you finish it, too.”

 

“B-But… but I also have my birds,” Medic murmured, “I can’t just _leave_ zhem for zhat long. Zhey need to be cared for, and…”

 

“Which is why I already sorted that out for you, _радость моя_. Miss Pauling say she will stop by every day to feed them. Took much convincing, but she understand- is very nice woman. Plus, it will only be week. Little birds will be fine.”

 

Medic scooched away in his seat and peeled Heavy’s massive hands off his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, head looking down once more at what he was writing, “I can’t go.”

 

Heavy frowned and stepped back. “What… what is problem?” he asked, slowly.

 

“I… I’m not going,” Medic replied.

 

“But, but why?”

 

Medic sighed, dragging his hand over his face once more. “Ach, Misha, it’s because,” he explained, a bit harsher than intending to, “I don’t _vant_ to go.”

 

Something inside of Heavy’s splintered, and he clutched the tickets tighter. He hadn’t really thought of a plan of what to do if Medic said no. He took a deep breath and placed another hand on Medic’s shoulder, as if his touch would urge Medic to change his mind. Medic swiped the paw off and grumbled, looking further away towards the tile floor.

 

“Medic… this is good for you, for us,” Heavy explained one last time, even though his patience was growing thin, “I want you to meet my family.”

 

“Vell, I don’t!” Medic shouted suddenly, slammed his fist on the table. He swiveled his head to look up at Heavy, almost glaring. “Misha, I know zhis _thing_ ve have is nice and all. But zhe fact is I don’t _vant_ to go out in the middle of novhere to meet your family. Maybe next year, but…”

 

Heavy stood up straight and had long since stopped smiling or looking hurt; now, he was just angry. “This… you think we are just ‘thing’,” he accused, shaking his head and stepping back, “After all I do for you… you want to treat me like I am not even worth time.”

 

Medic wasn’t in the mood for this, considering it was near one in the morning and they had battles tomorrow. Grimacing in frustration, Medic stood up and reached his arm out to Heavy.

 

“Come on, _liebling_ ,” he urged impatiently, “Let’s just talk about zhis in zhe morning. I vant to go to bed.”

 

Heavy smacked Medic’s hand away, just as Medic did to him moments earlier. Medic recoiled from the sudden defiance.

 

“Is _always_ about what doktor wants,” Heavy growled, “It is always, ‘Go here, get me this, shoot that!’ What about what _I_ want? I want to make doktor happy and have good time.”

 

Medic took a deep breath and attempted to walk past Heavy but was stopped by the giant putting a hand on his chest. He felt like his teeth were on the verge of cracking from how tightly he was clenching his jaw.

 

“Let me pass, _bitte_ ,” Medic hissed.

 

“ _нет_ ,” Heavy said, “You are going, and this is final. It will be good for you. You are just being, eh… too negative, I think.”

 

“It’s ‘pessimistic’,” Medic muttered under his breath, “Zhe vord is ‘pessimistic,’ _Mikhail_.”

 

“What? What did doktor say? Speak up.”

 

“How do _you_ know vhat’s good for me?!” Medic suddenly hollered, causing Archimedes to fly off his shoulder and the rest of the doves nearby to panic, “You vant me- nein, are going to _force_ me- to go out in zhe middle of zhe freezing cold to meet zhe family you keep sheltered because you have some kind of ‘duty’ to keep. Funny how I’m zhe older vone, but you still vant to be old fashioned! You vill _not_ make decisions for me!”

 

Medic huffed and huffed, his face red and his glasses askew from screaming his lungs out. Heavy’s face was twisted with anger and disgust, and he stomped over to the bed he was lying on earlier to pick up his book and glasses.

 

“I do think I know what is good for doktor,” Heavy said matter-of-factly, “Nothing to worry about. Mama and sisters will be nice.”

 

“Oh, _really_?” Medic retorted, hands on his hips.

 

“ _да_ ,” Heavy said, “Doktor is just tired. You will see in morning that this will be good for _us_.”

 

Medic ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. “So now you are treating me like a child?” he spat, “You zhink I can’t take care of myself?”

 

Heavy paused. “Sometimes,” he admitted, “You have… crazy person traits, and you get absorbed in work too much. You need vacation.”

 

Medic marched right back up to Heavy and put a finger in his face. “Oh, _ja_ , sure,” he said, “How about ve do a little _psychoanalyzing_ for you, hmm?” Medic then tapped a finger to his chin. “Let’s see… you are a man who is so obsessed vith following vhat your late father did, thus you are obsessed vith control.”

 

“I would stop talking, Ludwig,” Heavy warned, fists balling.

 

“No, you _alvays_ vant to be zhe bigger person, because you believe you are above your teammates- including your, how you say, ‘crazy person’ of a lover. You are sooooo sure of yourself zhat you always know what’s best because inside you are trying to make up for how much you blame yourself for your father’s death and your inflated masculine sense protecting your family, whom you can’t let go even vhen you are in your _forties_. You can’t let go, and now you are dragging _me_ into zhis.”

 

Heavy’s face was now bright red. “What do _you_ know about family?!” he roared, seizing Medic’s wrist and towering above him, “You do _not_ know what I have been through!”

 

“I have a pretty good idea, I vould zhink! You talk about zhem all zhe time!”

 

“At least Heavy cares about _someone_! All you care about is yourself!”

 

“Vhy?! Because I’m a _psychopath_? You zhink I don’t care about others?!”

 

“You do not act like it!” Heavy began to walk away, leaving Medic still trembling with rage (well, at least more noticeably than Heavy), “I should have known you did not want to have real relationship. Just want ‘thing’ because you are bored on base and want good sex.”

 

Medic’s shoulders lowered. “Vait, Heavy…” he whispered for a moment right before going back to his rage as Heavy made his way to the swinging medbay doors, “Fine! _Fine!_ Be like zhat, y-you big baby! Go cry about it to Sasha!”

 

Medic watched Heavy get swallowed up by the double doors and hear his stomping footsteps get quieter and quieter. Medic let out a guttural scream behind closed teeth, paced furiously for a couple seconds, then threw himself back in his office chair. Of course, it was still the same stupid report he was writing just minutes ago. Medic took a deep breath and picked his pen back up, then began to write.

 

_‘Prescribed pain killers… (5 oz) and… activated… charcoal… on…’_

 

Instead of finished the sentence, Medic scribbled the pen all over the page, essentially ruining the document. He then picked up the paper, ripped it, and slammed it into the nearby waste bin. He’d get to that eventually- besides, he doesn’t need to write papers to give pills to eight killer men who died daily.

 

Whatever, fine! He didn’t need Heavy to sit there and act high-and-mighty to his face. He could have fun on his own without someone holding him back. Medic grabbed his bonesaw and both a vial of some BLU soldier’s hand and many disembodied fingers and stomped over to his surgery table.

 

Who needs Heavy, and who needs sleep?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know that vine? The one that goes "How do you know what's good for me? THAT'S MY OPINIONNN!" yeah that was the insp for this chapter lol  
>  **EDIT: I GOT MORE FANART AND I LOOOOOVE IT BUT CAN'T PUT IT IN THE FIC BC IT'LL INTERRUPT THE FLOW SO HERE IT IS - > https://wireskull.tumblr.com/post/173243664812/i-can-notemphisise-how-much-i-need-everyone-to**
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Bitte = Please
> 
> Liebe/Liebling = Love/darling
> 
> радость моя = My happiness (courtesy of a helpful anon yet again)


	15. Fighting on the Playground and Getting Sent to the Principal's Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting sent to the principal's office over the intercom in school is one of the most humiliating thing that can happen to a kid. The same logic applies to middle-aged mercenaries too, it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaa sorry i haven't updated in a while. I was going through a really rough mental health time, and i just could not get into the writing mindset. sorry to keep y'all waiting

As much as Spy loved drama, he was about sick of having to look at Heavy and Medic sitting across from him. They were giving each other the stink eye the entire time and not saying a word, and since Pyro wasn’t one for conversations, Spy was left at the awkward table. As soon as he finished his ribs and sausage with a fork and knife, he sprang up from the table to go bother Engineer, who was still at the grill cooking steaks.

 

“Well, I ‘ave to say,” Spy said as he sauntered up to his comrade, “This seemed to ‘ave worked out _mostly_ in your favor.”

 

Engineer glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “Aw, shucks, it ain’t nothin’,” he admitted, “You helped a lot. ‘ppreciate it.”

 

“You owe me more than laundry, though,” Spy warned. He took out his cigarette case and lit one of his expensive imported cigarettes, blowing the smoke up into the air.

 

“Long as you don’t ask me to be your personal hitman, I’ll be sure to return the favor,” Engineer replied. He flipped over on of the steaks, then looked back at Heavy and Medic still sitting at the table. They were too far away to hear their quiet conversation, but it didn’t seem violent for now, so he turned back to his own task. “Least they’re talkin’. That’s an improvement.”

 

“I wouldn’t let your guard down, laboreur,” Spy said as he fiddled with his cigarette in his mouth, “You did not ‘ave to eat with them. Like tea kettles waiting to hiss, they can only stay calm for so long.”

 

“Again, they’re talkin’, ain’t they?”

 

Spy peeked back over his should again and sighed. “Are you prepared to deal with the explosion?” he said, “Don’t look now, but their voices are going up. They are back to arguing once more.”

 

Engineer did indeed hear the voices of the two starting to bicker reach his ears. He paused in thought as he picked off a rare steak for Spy off the grill and handed it to the Frenchman on a paper plate. “Son, I ain’t afraid of those two going off like an ol’ married couple,” he claimed, “’sides, they ain’t draggin’ anyone else into this right now. Got nothin’ to worry-”

 

_SMACK!_

 

Spy and Engineer jumped and swiveled around when they heard a sickening slapping sound out from behind them. Judging by Medic’s standing position with a hand recently swiped across the air in front of him, breathing heavily, he was the cause of that sound. In front of him, Heavy’s head was drooped off to the side from recoil. The fork he was using clattered down to the dusty ground, still adorning a piece of sausage he couldn’t put in his mouth before Medic acted.

 

“Shit…” Engineer muttered.

 

“ _Merde_ ,” Spy hissed.

 

For a moment, the entire world screeched to a halt at such a tense sight. The rest of the team playing football didn’t notice at first, but even their hoots and hollers were muted outside this bubble of a scene. A fleeting chance that Medic would get the better of this argument lingered.

 

Except that chance was over in a moment. If Engineer or Spy had blinked their eyes a moment too soon, they would have missed it. One second, Medic was trembling with rage with one hand still raised, while Heavy repositioned his head and stood to his feet in silence. The next, Medic was sent flying towards the table with the great force of a genuine Russian backhand to taste his own medicine. Plates, utensils and beer bottles rattled, with Heavy’s mostly full beer spilling onto the table and onto Medic.

 

The rest of the team definitely heard that one, as the game ceased immediately for them to stare at their team doctor getting thrown like a ragdoll. Medic initially didn’t move, just lolled his head and held his reddened cheek as he rested awkwardly on the wood table. Fearing Medic was going to pass out, Engineer was about to take a step forward until Spy put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“I… will leave this to you,” Spy whispered before vanishing into a cloud of smoke and footsteps crunching lightly on the sand in a hurried patter. Engineer groaned, then focused back on Medic again.

 

Thankfully, Medic was back on his feet in seconds. The downside, however, was that it was to fight Heavy with flailing punches and kicks and the occasional bites. A string of random German curses came from the tussle, while Heavy was mostly silent beyond grunts. Despite always being careful and protective of his doctor on and off the battlefield, Heavy was now also equally into the fight, but holding back. He was more focused on blocking Medic’s attacks then dealing his own, as the nosebleed that ran across Medic’s lips was a reminder that Heavy was much stronger than his older ex-partner.

 

Engineer turned off the grill and threw his tongs down, then ran up to the pair. Perhaps it was a momentary gift from God, but Engineer found the strength within his five-foot-five body to get between the two and push them apart with his bare hands (then again, his right hand being a machine may also be a reason). He shoved both to the ground in one push, then glared at both with the emotions he had been holding back for the past week cracking through his face.

 

“Will you two jus’ _SHUT THE HELL UP?!_ ” he bellowed, earning recoils from both the fighting couple and the team that wandered over by now. There was no going back now, so Engineer continued. “Y’know, I really thought y’all were gonna put this behind y’all an’ try to have a nice time. Get back to bein’ a _team_. But no sir, y’all jus’ wanna act like _children_!”

 

Heavy scoffed and turned his head away. Medic wiped his nose on his arm, and his face twisted with annoyance. “Ve are not _children_ ,” he hissed, “Ve vere just settling zhings like _men_. Zhis doesn’t concern you-“

 

“Oh, cut the _shit_ , you loony quack!” Engineer yelled, “You’ve been nothin’ but a nuisance all week ‘cause you wanna take your anger out on everyone else. Takin’ it on Soldier but followin’ him ‘round like some bitch on a leash ‘cause you can’t _stand_ the thought of healin’ Heavy. We all know you’re only usin’ the Quick-fix ‘cause you forgot to charge your medigun.”

 

Heavy nodded in agreement, muttering Russian under his breath, which alerted Engineer that Heavy was next. “An’ _you_! Least Medic is _honest_ ‘bout how upset he is. You wanna act like you’re so above all this, but anyone with two brain cells can tell it’s eatin’ you up inside. ‘member Sniper, and how you nearly _killed_ \- an’ I mean _actually_ killed- ‘im ‘cause you needed a human punchin’ bag! Y’all are both equally petty an’ in the wrong, and we’re all _sick of it_!!”

 

No one dared to utter a word, or even breath for that matter, as Engineer took his own ragged breaths. He hadn’t yelled that much in over a year, not since Scout hit a baseball through his workshop’s window and knocked over the new sentry prototype he had been working on for the past three weeks. The scarcity of this side of Engineer was what made his raised voice one of the scariest on the team, even above Heavy’s deep, booming projections. It was also one of the few things that silenced both Heavy and Medic completely and knocking some sense of their situation into them.

 

 _“I will take it from here, Mr. Conagher.”_ A familiar voice boomed over the intercom, breaking the silence from all parties.

 

“Ah, look what y’all did now,” Engineer muttered, wiping his brow and his stance meekening.

 

“ _Scheisse_ ,” Medic cursed, scrambling to his feet and wiping his nose again with his pocket handkerchief. Heavy did the same, posture stiff and frozen solid. The voice never had called specific mercenaries out like this before, not in a personal way. In all honesty, it made them feel like children; even the onlookers not involved still felt like they were getting a scolding.

 

 _“I would like to see the Heavy Weapons Specialist and the Medic in the conference room for a monthly performance check,”_ the Administrator said, “ _I believe you both know **why**. It will commence in five minutes, and you do not to bring anything other than yourselves. That will be all._ ”

The voice went silent as quickly as it spoke up, leaving a tense air among the mercenaries even beyond the recent brawl aftermath. Heavy and Medic looked at each other to search for answers in the other’s eyes.

 

“Well,” Engineer said, hands on his hips, “Better havin’ it now than before the fightin’ starts back up tomorrow. Maybe y’all can cool off in there.”

 

There wasn’t any point in trying to retort Engineer or the orders of the Administrator, so Heavy and Medic began to sulk back to the base. Medic kept his handkerchief on his face, covering his mouth and the darker crimson soaking into the bright red fabric. Heavy was a few paces behind Medic as he held his arm, rubbing in gingerly in places he knew hideous black and yellow bruises would surely form by tomorrow. Neither wanted to even look at each other right now.

 

They reached the spacious conference room soon enough, Heavy shutting the door behind the two. Medic sat at the farthest edge of the table from the large monitor mounted on the wall, so naturally Heavy sat the closest to the screen and the farthest from Medic. Luckily, the Administrator was as punctual as ever, though the screen didn’t flicker on like the two men expected.

 

“ _I want you both in the front,”_ the Administrator sighed over the intercom, “ _I need to be able to look at you both. That means **you** , Mr. Vogel._” Medic’s cheeks flushed at the rare use of his last name, but he hastily obliged, sitting across from Heavy. The screen still didn’t turn on, but both didn’t think much of it. “ _Good. Now then, I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you that both of your performances were below satisfactory this week, and I **have** noticed._”

 

“ _Ja_ , ve know,” Medic said, a bit snappier than he probably should have been to his boss.

 

“ _I’m not sure you do,_ ” the Administrator snapped back.

“Is… is both our own faults,” Heavy said, glancing at Medic, “Will do better this week.”

 

“ _I’m not in the mood for excuses. But, before I continue, there is one thing I would like to say. For a couple of experienced mercenaries who have dealt with spies for years now,_ ” As the Administrator spoke, her voice became deeper and foreign, with a hint of a heavy smoker’s raspy dialect mixed in. Heavy and Medic’s eyes widened.

 

“ _You two are so easy to fool,_ ” Spy said over the intercom, followed by a snorting laugh.

 

Medic shot up from his seat and glared at the ceiling whiel Heavy also stood. “Oh, _du Hurensohn_!” Medic yelled, “You zhink zhis is _funny_?! Vhen I get my hands on you…!” He stomped to the back of the room again, ready to lock himself back in the medbay more than ever. However, the door knob wouldn’t budge, causing Medic to snarl to himself again.

 

“Here, let Heavy try,” Heavy insisted, shoving Medic aside to yank on the door for himself. Again, the thing wouldn’t budge. Heavy sighed and readied himself to slam into the door.

 

“ _I wouldn’t try that,_ ” Spy chimed in above them, “ _T_ _his base is made to withstand bombs and contain the lunatics- those doors are made to not break, even for someone like you._ ”

 

“Spy is not funny!” Heavy retorted, yanking the knob again, “Why you play trick on team?”

 

“ _A little birdie told me you two needed some time-out together. Though if I’m such a nuisance, I will leave you two to yourselves. 'ave fun._ ”

 

\----

 

“You son of a gun,” Engineer said as he walked into the control room where Spy was just now pushing aside the intercom, “I really thought you’d never pull it off.”

 

Spy raised his hands up. “ _Mon ami_ ,” he replied, “You underestimate me. Now, let’s see what those to get up to in there.” He motioned to one of the many screens behind him and spun back around in the swivel chair.

 

“Eh heh heh,” Engineer chuckled, “Hope you don’t mind a few extra guests.” As he said this, he was followed in the room by his five other team mates, who were as eager to snoop as much as Spy. They all now had their cooked steaks, and each man huddled around the monitors and even quieted their chewing to listen better.

 

“Ah, the more the merrier, _non_?” Spy agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Scheisse= Shit
> 
> Du Hurensohn! = You son of a bitch


	16. Teach Me How to Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closure is a nice thing. Talking is, too.

“So… they gonna do somethin’ or what?” Scout wondered.

 

“They are preparing for the battle!” Soldier exclaimed with his mouth full, “Silent contemplation before war does good for the warrior!”

 

“They ain’t gonna fight again,” Sniper replied, “Least, probably not.”

 

“If they ‘aven’t gone at it again yet, they aren’t gunnae,” Demoman reasoned.

 

Engineer scratched his stubble thoughtfully. His team was right- what were the two planning? Heavy and Medic had been sitting in the locked conference room in their own corners of the room, not looking nor speaking to one another, for the past fifteen minutes. Medic was sitting down with his head in one hand while the other tapped furiously on the table, while Heavy was leaning against the door, hoping it would open soon.

 

“Maybe we should just forget this viewing party and leave them in for two more hours,” Spy suggested, “I would rather watch paint dry.”

 

“Yeah, dis sucks!” Scout exclaimed, “I’m goin’ to-”

 

“Wait!” Engineer said, putting a hand on Scout’s chest, “They’re talkin’. Everybody, hush!”

 

\----

 

The room was stiff with the silence of no words being exchanged and the silent tension filling the air. Neither man was ready to be the first to speak, and it was evident this was going to be a long, long game of chicken. At least, it was for the first fifteen minutes.

 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Medic said quietly, but not lifting his face up.

 

Heavy raised his eyebrows. “What?” he responded, “What did you say?”

 

Medic rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses and turned his head away. Heavy cocked his head, squinting at Medic before coming closer with cautious steps, like approaching a wild animal.

 

“You say something,” Heavy pressed.

 

“Isn’t zhat vhat you vanted to hear?” Medic admitted, “Vell, you vin, and I said it. Happy, Misha?”

 

Heavy sighed and knelt in front of Medic, even if Medic was still refusing to look at him.

 

“ _нет_ ,” he said, shaking his head, “Am not happy. I just want to know why- why was doktor being so mean about my family? Did I… did I do something bad?”

 

“No, no,” Medic confessed, “ _Du bist wunderbar_. Too good to me, even. Zhe last few years I’ve spent vith you have been like a dream. It’s just…”

 

“Just… what, doktor?” Heavy asked.

 

“Vhy do you vant me?” Medic said, finally turning to Heavy. The blood on his face had long since dried, and his hair was laying down flat in its newfound dishevelment. His expression was hard to read, but it was a tender and sad one. “I don’t understand.”

 

Heavy sighed. “This is big question…,” he muttered, then looking back at his beloved, “Cannot explain love. It just happens. Just know that I want to be with you. That’s why I will bring you to Mama.”

 

“You don’t vant to marry me,” Medic argued.

 

If Heavy had been drinking something, he would have spit it out. “M-Marry?” he sputtered as his cheeks grew red, “Is not- no, I- is not wedding proposal. Is just meeting family for holidays. Will be good for us.”

 

“So, you _do_ zhink you can just fix me, then.”

 

“No! Of course not.”

 

“Zhen how do you expect me to just be okay vith zhis?!” Medic snapped, “ _Gott_ , you sound like Lotte.” He stood up and walked a few paces away from Heavy, folding his arms. Heavy stood back up but didn’t approach Medic this time.

 

“Misha, I have no ill will towards your mother and sisters,” Medic explained, “I’m sure zhey are all lovely women. It’s just… vhen you try to force me to go vith you to see zhem vithout talking, I… I panicked. You must understand zhat zhis whole romance zhing… it’s all foreign to me. Medicine and surgery, zhat makes sense, because you don’t have to zhink of the feelings of the flesh you cut into, and it can be explained with logic and facts. But emotions… emotions don’t make sense- zhey are abstract and strange. Forgive me if I can’t see zhat like you do, or if I ever will.”

 

Heavy slumped his shoulders as Medic’s words hit him deep. He approached Medic from behind and put his large hands around the man’s stiff shoulders, rubbing tenderly. “You’re afraid of commitment,” he said.

 

“Oh, is zhat zhe vord?” Medic asked, staring up at the ceiling, chuckling to himself, “Maybe zhis is vhy I treat Soldier like zhat; it’s like looking in a mirror.”

 

“I was too focused on being right,” Heavy confessed, resting his head on Medic’s shoulder, “Did not even think if you were upset, if you were hurt, too. You are right, I did seem to think I could control you, like I have control over Mama and sisters. But you are much different than Mama and sisters. I am sorry, Ludwig.”

 

Medic sighed and leaned his own head to rest on Heavy’s and brining one hand to grasp his lover’s that was still around his arm. Finally, he turned around and faced Heavy, cusping the giant’s cheek with the rare tenderness that Medic hid from the rest of the team.

 

“I just need to know vhat you vant out of me,” he explained, “Out of us, and out of zhis relationship. Do you… vere you hoping to go further?”

 

Heavy thought for a second as he nudged into Medic’ touch, then grasping both of Medic’s hands. “I want you,” he confirmed, “Do not need to visit family. We can do what Ludwig wants- will take you anywhere. I would leave everything behind but my name and mind if it meant I stay here with you for even a moment more. We will figure this out together, how to make this work. I care very much for you- you know that, right?”

 

“Misha, I…” Medic hesitated, but stopped when Heavy let go of his hands and dug in his pocket. He fished out the plane tickets he presented to Medic a week ago and held them out. Suddenly, he took those expensive tickets and ripped then in half, letting the paper fall to the floor.

 

“What zhe _fuck_?!” Medic yelled, “Vhat are you _doing_?”

 

“Not worth it,” Heavy said, smiling sadly, “Not worth making you uncomfortable for my sake. We will do what _you_ want to do for Smissmas.”

 

“No, no!” Medic argued, picking up the fallen pieces of paper and shoving them into Heavy’s chest, “ _Nien_ , I’ve made up my mind! I vant to go, I vant to meet your mother, and your three sisters! I vas… I vas afraid, but not anymore.”

 

Heavy raised an eyebrow. “You... you are sure?” he asked.

 

Medic’s voice began to crack as he grasped Heavy’s face. “ _Ja_ , yes!” he exclaimed, “I vant to meet your family. I vant to be a part of your life, and I vant to vake up to you in zhe morning and fall asleep beside you at night. I vant to learn how to _love_. Misha, I zhink I love you. _Oh gott,_ I love you!”

 

Before Heavy could respond, Medic practically jumped up onto him and smashed their faces together. Despite how sudden it was, Heavy didn’t protest, and held Medic up as the smaller man wrapped his legs around Heavy’s waist.

 

 

From somewhere else in the base, the security room where seven men crowded around a tiny monitor erupted into cheers. Soldier brought the two people at his side, which just happened to be Demoman and Scout, into a crushing hug out of excitement. Pyro jumped up and down and clapped, and Sniper even took his hat off to run his fingers through his short hair in relief.

 

“And that,” Spy explained, pleased with himself, “Is ‘ow you fix the relationship of two deadly men.”

 

Engineer felt like he could soar right now. No matter how cold or crazy those two were, their personal victory felt like a victory for the entire team. He hadn’t seen either of them smile like that with such tenderness and unadulterated affection in months, not since the two won a particularly difficult match by themselves against the entire BLU team.

 

“Ok… this is gettin’ awkward,” Scout said after being released from Soldier’s grip, “It’s like watchin’ my parents make out- gross!”

 

“Perhaps you’re just jealous of them,” Spy teased, “I don’t see you getting action like this… well, ever.”

 

“Shuddup, frog!” Scout snapped.

 

“Better go let those two out ‘fore they go at it like rabbits in there,” Engineer said, chuckling and exiting the room. After a short trip through the base, he unlocked the conference room with the four-digit code and knocked lighly. “Alright, I think y’all learned your lesson. You can come on out.”

 

The lovebirds emerged shortly after, with Medic now hoisted over Heavy’s shoulder. Medic was cackling like he was drunk on alcohol instead of love, lightly hitting Heavy’s back as he was carried.

 

“Stop, stop, you’re embarrassing me, Misha!” Medic gasped between laughs, then looking up at Engineer and waving, “Oh, zhank you… ha ha, Engineer.”

 

“All in a day’s work,” Engineer replied, nodding to the couple as the disappeared down the hallway and into the medbay. He grinned from ear to ear, then left to go clean up from the barbecue outside. He wasn’t even in the mood to bother wondering who Lotte was.

 

For the first time in the entire week, the whole team was able to have a good night’s rest- with ear plugs of course. Even Scout, who was sleeping on the rec room couch to avoid listening to hours of a very, very creaky bed and loud moans. Despite the noise, no one complained this time, because the war was finally over.

 

\----

 

_Mission begins in thirty seconds._

 

“Y’all ready?” Engineer called back to his team in the locker room as he picked up his toolbox underneath his arm.

 

“Sir, yes, sir!” Soldier called.

 

“Aye!” Demoman said.

 

“I was _born_ ready,” Scout bragged.

 

Sniper, Pyro, and Spy all gave their muffled to silent nods of approval.

 

_5… 4… 3… 2… 1_

 

The team ran out as soon as the gates opened, all except for Heavy, who stopped when he didn’t see his partner leave. He turned back and stared and Medic, who was adjusting his medigun.

 

“Something wrong with, doktor?” Heavy asked, concerned.

 

“ _Nein_ ,” Medic said softly, taking one of Heavy’s hands around Sasha and squeezing it as he smiled, “Nothing at all, my love. Everything’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Du bist wunderbar = You are wonderful
> 
> One more chapter left! Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me for this long :D Once again, more art by the lovely Wireskull on tumblr~! Look at it here and please support this artist financially if you can -> https://wireskull.tumblr.com/post/174482359632/some-adorable-heavymedic-from-a-great-scene-from
> 
> Also I have a HC that Medic was once married for family reasons, and her name was Lotte. It wasn't a nice marriage, as neither loved each other. Maybe I'll write a fic about that another time... :s


	17. Epilogue: Everything Stays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But it still changes.

“Hmm… full house,” Demoman said triumphantly as he slammed his cards down on the table, then taking another swig of whiskey. He then snickered and looked back up at Soldier sitting across from him on the table. “I’d like ta see you beat _that_ , Janey.”

 

“That _is_ an impressive play, DeGroot,” Soldier admitted, rubbing his stubble, “I don’t know if I _can_ beat it.”

 

“Ach, no worries, mate,” Demoman assured, leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head, “Jus’ gimme the money now an’ we’ll save you the pain o’ loss.”

 

“No, I’m not going down a coward!” Soldier announced. He took a solid minute to decide his cards, then placing them down in front of Demoman’s. Demoman nearly fell out of his chair as Soldier smirked. “Straight. Flush. Where’s your full house now, cupcake?”

 

Demoman blinked his eye in disbelief, then let out a roaring laughter, pounding his fist on the table and nearly knocking their drinks over. “Oh, ho ho ho, Jane, you’re a riot!”

 

“I’m not a riot, I’m a war machine!”

 

Demoman waved his hand as he rubbed the tears out of his eye, then he pushed the bets across the table. “Alright, alright,” he said, “It’s all yours.”

 

As the two laughed and shared their drinks, they didn’t notice two of their comrades come up behind them. Even though it was the afternoon of the last ceasefire before Smissmas, Medic was wearing his usual outfit minus the lab coat, whereas Engineer was in yet another hideous Hawaiian shirt and overalls. Medic was holding a wrapped present in his arms, which he was holding as awkwardly as the rest of his posture.

 

“Go on, Doc,” Engineer ushered, pushing Medic forward.

 

Medic cleared his throat. “Ehm… Herr Soldier?” he asked.

 

Demoman and Soldier stopped their merriment and met Medic’s gaze. Demoman went into a more defensive stance, glaring his eye and ready to start yelling on cue. Soldier just blinked with stony indifference, unsure what to say to Medic after their conflict two weeks ago.

 

“What do you need, kraut?” Soldier said.

 

Medic chose to ignore that nickname for now. “I, eh… I vanted to… _apologize_ ,” he replied, slowly.

 

Soldier cocked his head. “Yeah? For what?”

 

“For… for…,” Medic muttered with forced emotions he normally didn’t express, looking off to the side, “It has come to my attention zhat I may have been… _unfair_ to you vhen ve teamed up several veeks ago. You’re much more spontaneous and rough zhan I am. You’re physical and mental deficiencies made you… _unfit_ to be a team like me and Heavy are.”

 

“ _This_ is an apology?” Demoman warned, “Try again, lad.” Soldier still didn’t say anything, but his blood was beginning to boil as well. Engineer kept a neutral expression, looking back and forth between the two.

 

“But, I am no better,” Medic confessed.

 

Soldier raised his eyebrows underneath his helmet. “I’m… listening,” he said.

 

“I’m a convicted criminal in several countries, and I take sadistic pleasure out of tearing men apart due to psychotic tendencies I appear to have. I took my anger and hurt from not only my fight vith Mish… Heavy, but also from the frustration of how much you reminded me of myself. I used your own shortcomings against you.

 

“Zhe truth is, for a man as insane as I am, you are far from stupid. You’re actually rather good at battle strategies, and can hold your own ground- vhich is rare for zhis team. I know I can never take back all zhe horrible zhings I said to you. I just hope zhat you can understand. I’m… I’m still learning, and I’m sorry.”

 

No one was prepared to say anything. Demoman and Soldier just stare at the doctor in awe that a man of such haughty arrogance was willing to step down for once in an act of humility. Medic’s face was bright red, and he refused to exchange glances with the others. At least, not until Engineer nudged him forward.

 

“Oh, right,” Medic said, holding out the present to Soldier, “Zhis vas in case my vords didn’t persuade you. Material objects generally make good apologies… or so I’ve been told.”

 

Engineer grimaced at the horribly blunt delivery, but held his tongue for the time being, as the other two didn’t seem to mind.

 

Soldier took the present and shook it lightly. It was a couple of feet on each side and bit heavy, with not much rattling came from within, so it couldn’t be a weapon. He was quick to tear off the neat wrapping paper (which was most likely done by Engineer, considering how perfect it was) and opened the box within.

 

Inside the box, within a layer of tissue paper and packing peanuts, a pair of boots. They were dark brown and had three belts on the same color on each boot. The material was leather, but a sturdy kind that was fit for combat. Soldier took the pair out and examined them with increasing curiosity.

 

“Vhenever I vas behind you in zhe air,” Medic explained, “I noticed zhat your boots- zhe same vones you’ve had since ve vere hired, it seems- vere getting vorn out. Zhese vones are from high grade military manufacturers here in America. Zhey should last you through many, many more battles.”

 

Wordlessly, Soldier stood up and faced Medic, setting the box on the table next to his poker winnings. The ball in Medic’s throat bobbed, and he gave Soldier an uneasy look. Then, without warning, Medic was pulled into a crushing hug by Soldier, who still didn’t say a word- he didn’t need to.

 

“Eh… yes,” Medic said stiffly, looking somewhere to the side of the room and patting Soldier’s back with one hand, “Let’s not get _too_ friendly now, Herr Soldier.”

 

Demoman chuckled and took another swig of his whiskey, and offered one to Engineer, who gladly obliged as they both watched Medic act like he was getting hugged by his grandmother.

 

\----

 

Fixing his van during early evening of ceasefires had become sort of a tradition for Sniper at this point. There was always something to work on; if nothing needed to be tightened or replaced, he could spend time washing the outside or cleaning up on the inside. There was probably some kind of science Engineer knew behind this cathartic effect, but Sniper didn’t care about the reason. All he cared about was that today, the front axles needed to be tightened.

 

“Hey man,” Scout said as he approached once more after his short trip back to the base, “Got you some soda.”

 

“Thanks, mate,” Sniper said, smiling and rising from his spot on the sand, knees cracking loudly as he did so. He groaned, rubbing the joints and wondering if he really felt like thirty-two or sixty-two. Still he took a soda from Scout’s hand and chugged it, scratching his bare chest with his free hand.

 

Scout could feel his throat get dry and his face getting red (and not from the beating sun), so he drowned that out with his own can of _Bonk!_ in one go. The two sat under the umbrella and lawn chairs they set out for themselves, staring at the expansive desert before them.

 

“Nice day, h-huh?” Scout commented.

 

“Only place in the entire bloody country that’s still eighteen in December,” Sniper groused.

 

“What? Eighteen degrees? It’s a million friggin degrees out here!”

 

“Eighteen _Celsius_ , genius,” Sniper snapped, “Most places don’t use your backwards American measurements. Never learned it, not plannin’ on it.”

 

Scout rolled his eyes and flipped his empty can in the air out of boredom. During the third flip, he finally noticed a large figure approaching them coming from the base. Out of reflex, Scout reached for the baseball bat he had nearby, but calmed down once he saw Heavy approach, but still was cautious. Sniper’s bruises just finally healed completely, and Scout was pretty sure he didn’t want a brand-new set.

 

“Oi, hey there, big guy-” Sniper greeted nonchalantly when Heavy reached the two.

 

“Whadda _you_ want?” Scout interrupted.

 

“Hello to you, too, little man,” Heavy said, nodding in Scout’s general direction with his hands behind his back.

 

“Hey, twerp,” Sniper offered, “Why dontcha go and hit that baseball ‘round a bit while the grown-ups talk?”

 

Scout cursed under his breath but got up with his bat and baseball and went towards the base reluctantly. Sniper motioned to the seat beside him, but Heavy shook his head.

 

“Am too big,” Heavy explained, “Will break tiny chair.”

 

Sniper shrugged. “Suit yourself, mate,” he said, taking a drink before continuing, “So, what can I do you one for?”

 

Heavy didn’t say anything, instead taking his hands out from behind his back. He held out a jar of chunky peanut butter larger than Sniper’s head and as thick as Heavy’s bicep and looked down at Sniper expectantly. It took too much willpower for Sniper to not even peep out a chuckle; the sincerity of the act seemed to be too genuine to laugh at.

 

“Gee… thanks,” Sniper said, taking the jar and examining it, “So… this is your way of sayin’ sorry for nearly murderin’ me?”

 

“ _да_ ,” Heavy replied, “Did not know what you like. We never talk, and you are always in van. But Spy say you eat this stuff for meals sometimes.”

 

Suddenly Sniper stood up, peanut butter in hands and he turned towards his van. “Wait ‘ere a sec,” he commanded, then shutting himself in his van. About a minute later, he re-emerged with a shirt and his signature hat on and his van keys in his hands. “That ain’t ‘ow you apologize. C’mon, lemme show you.”

 

Heavy blinked but obliged anyways by climbing into the passenger’s seat of the van. Besides, if Sniper wanted to drive out far away from the base and shoot him in the head, Heavy was strong and could easily disarm such a scrawny man. Despite the unnerving possibilities of the sudden excursion, the car ride was short, as downtown Teufort was only a ten-minute drive (though it felt longer by neither party talking).

 

They ended up in both RED and BLU teams’ favorite- well, only- town bar, a family-owned pub named _Leaky Louie’s_. Thankfully neither were in their team colors today, so they only got dirty looks from only one or two people who cared enough to remember the resident mercenaries’ faces. Heavy and Sniper sat at the bar and Sniper ordered them both some beers to start off.

 

“I take it you’re payin’,” Sniper said, smirking, “So I can order whatever I want, eh?”

 

“Be nice to Heavy’s wallet,” Heavy warned, “Want to buy Smissmas presents for Medic and family. But, it is least I can do.” He paused as he took his beer from the mustached bartender. “How is neck?”

 

Sniper scratched the body part in question idly. “’bout fully healed by now,” he replied, “The bloody cunt really makes sure we don’t go ‘round poppin’ each other’s ‘eads off all day- respawn’s a bitch.”

 

“Indeed,” Heavy said, “Should we have invited little Scout?”

 

“Nah, ‘e’s a bloody light-weight. Don’t drink anything beyond that wretched soda he loves so much.”

 

“But he looked upset when I come.”

 

Sniper went quiet and glanced at the table. “He’s fine. He’s just… just a friend.”

 

Heavy hummed with thought and took a moment of silence with Sniper. He then turned back to the bushman, furrowing his brow. “Why… why are we here?” he inquired, “Was gift not acceptable?”

 

Sniper swished around the beer in his glass and shrugged. “You said we never talked,” Sniper answered, “Thought we could change that. Look, I ‘ppreciate the sentiment, but I can just _buy_ my own food- job pays well enough. But I hardly know _you_.”

 

“We are always on different ends of battlefield,” Heavy agreed, “I am in front, and you are way in back in towers.”

 

“So, let’s talk,” Sniper offered, holding up his beer and smiling.

 

Heavy returned the expression with a mutual feeling of understanding spreading through his chest. He clinked his glass with Sniper, and they both took long drinks to start off a long several hours of idle chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The boots Medic gave Soldier are the Manntreads
> 
> Wow! This fic is finally coming to an end. Not to be sappy, but I do have a few words to say
> 
> Thank you to everybody who's been following this fic and leaves kudos and comments (and even a couple ko-fi's!!). Actually finishing long-form fics has always been a challenge for me, but I'm really glad I was able to finish this one. I've also had some mental health crashes during this writing, but I'm glad y'all were patient with me updating. 
> 
> Writing this has meant so much to me. Exploring headcanons and character relations that I wanted to see more of in other people's works was one of the main reasons for writing this. Deaf Soldier was an especially important thing to write to me, because I was able to use some of my own insecurities on one of my fav boys who doesn't get enough love. The overarching theme of this was the different types of love and relationships that are a part of life- from friendships to friends with benefits to the most devoted of lovers who can nearly split up when they accidentally hurt each other. I'm definitely gonna write more fics that use these dynamics/take place in the same universe!!
> 
> Also a big thanks to the people who did art for this fic, **@aestheticrunch** and **@wireskull** from tumblr. Their surprise art has made my day several times, and their pieces really brought more life into this fic. I always planned on making my own art for this fic, but... I never got around to it cause art blocks and mental health *nervous laugh*
> 
> Thanks to Valve for introducing me to a series that's left such an impact on me. Thanks to my friends who've been supporting my writing. And most importantly, thanks to you for reading all the way!
> 
> \- Meaghan/cosmicmind

**Author's Note:**

> Come bother me @motel-hario on tumblr  
> 


End file.
